#this one is short so the next chap is going up too

[peachesofteal]

I know Azriel has amassed a ton of wealth over centuries from doing the dirtiest work, and rarely spends it. He's never really had a need to. Of course, he buys gifts for his family, covers tabs at Rita's, buys himself things, essentials, etc but when it comes to spending for enjoyment or spending to indulge, it just doesn't happen.

He's not looking for reasons, either, until he literally stumbles into one.

You trip and fall into him in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Trip over something on the ground, get twisted up, and flail forward, right into his path. You're rose and pink pepper, floral, sharp, sweet in a way he cannot fathom, and he doesn't think before stopping your fall. He just reacts, grabbing you around the arms and pulling you upright, holding you steady as you recalibrate your balance, looking up into his face, eyes shining bright like the stars. They're brilliant, full of life, but lined with an undercurrent of stress, of worry, he does not understand.

You're fumbling over an apology as he studies you, scrutinizing every detail on your face, down to the chap of your lips.

He's never seen a High Fae look so... off before, and they're not known to be clumsy.

"Are you alright?" It's polite to inquire, he assures himself, it's the right thing to do.

"I'm fine," you smile but it doesn't touch your eyes, "thanks. Sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going." He's unsure what to say next but before he can come up with something, you're giving him a quick thank you, and then disappearing into market.

He thinks about you that night. Wonders about you, as he stares at the bedroom ceiling. You obviously weren't well. Maybe he should have done more. It's his duty, isn't it? To Velaris? To care for it and its citizens, to protect them. Or at least, you. Do something to care for you, protect you.

He's not sure what to do, so he pushes the lingering questions from his mind.

And then the following week, he sees you at Rita's.

You're waiting tables, waltzing across the floor delivering drinks with a smile, the same one that slips away as soon as you're out of sight. Your shoulders slump as you stand at the corner of the bar, covering your mouth with your palm, yawning into it again and again.

Maybe he should do something, maybe you need a healer, maybe he could help-

No. He shouldn't. You probably wouldn't want him to, anyway. Right?

He shakes it off, tries to shake you off but can't stop himself from watching every step you take, trying to diagnose the problem.

It takes too long for it to click.

You're not sick, or clumsy.

You're exhausted, and it makes him irrationally angry, fills him with a need to drag you away from Rita's and tuck you up into a house somewhere, a place you'll never have to lift a finger again if you so choose. A place where you could be taken care of-

maybe even by him.

It takes him very little time to find the ramshackle duplex you live in on the outskirts of town, the roof too sloped, the wooden steps too rotted, the siding too loose.

It makes him uneasy, makes his skin crawl. Why are you here, in a place like this? Who has allowed this?

Why does a place like this even exist when Velaris has such wealth?

He begins to play a game, and at first, he tells himself it's to make himself feel better, that he's doing it for selfish reasons.

It's winter, and you don't have gloves, so he buys a pair and the shadows deposit them on your front step, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach go away. For a few days.

When it returns, he buys you a hat, and this time, he delivers it himself, eager to see your reaction.

He doesn't expect to see the gloves still sitting on the porch, and he frowns. Did you not see them? Did you not like them? He leaves the hat at their side and lurks on the roof of the house across from yours, hiding in shadow, in wait.

The sun is still rising when you leave for your first job of the day, and you stop short at the sight of the hat. He perks up, expecting to see you relax with relief, or happiness, but is left confused when you hold the hat in your hands for a moment, reverently tracing the stitching, before dropping it back next to the gloves.

Why? You need these things. They're being given anonymously, alleviating some of awkwardness of accepting gifts, and he had hoped it would spare you from feelings of obligation or embarrassment. Perhaps you are too proud, he wonders, but shadows echo a different sentiment, one of distrust, of wariness.

The gifts scare you.

The guilt churns the bile in his stomach, and he flexes his fingers into fists before flying away, cursing himself the whole way home.

Idiot.

You're very surprised when he approaches you on your walk from the Palace to Rita's, so much so that you jerk to a dead stop, staring at him with your mouth dropped open as he tries to explain he has something to give you.

Yes, he knows you don't know him. Yes, he's aware how strange this is.

Yes, you will be taking this scarf whether you like it or not.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is for you." He extends the scarf towards you, holding his breath. Your eyes narrow.

"Have you been leaving things on my porch?"

"Yes." There's no point in lying. He's standing here trying to gift you a scarf, for Cauldron's sake.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, anxious, and he wishes there was a way he could reassure you without frightening you further.

"You needed them." It comes off as arrogant, but he doesn't care. He's getting to the point where he's past caring, where he's past watching you freeze and work yourself to the bone. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscles are straining, and it takes effort to steady his voice. "You're freezing."

"I-"

"I want you to have this." Just take it. The shadows skitter around him, trawling across the brick to where you stand, and you glance at them briefly, surprisingly unafraid, before looking back at him. He expects a fight, some kind of resistance, but it's all been bled dry. The only thing he sees is defeat, and it stings. You're suffering, you're suffering and he's got everything he could ever want, material wise, and then some. "Please," he murmurs, stepping forward, and you shake your head.

"I shouldn't."

"It's just a gift, I don't expect anything in return."

"You say that now." Your voice trembles. Anger cracks like lightning through his veins. Is this what you fear? A transaction? An exchange for help? There are only so many things one could want in a situation like this, and all of the them fill him with rage.

"I promise you," his voice is steel, firm and unrelenting, "I want nothing in return."

"You promise." It's not a question, and you won't meet his gaze, but he pushes on.

"I do." You reach for it hesitantly and wrap it around your neck, tucking your chin into the softly spun wool, cheeks lifting in a very small, shy smile. Good girl.

He chose perfectly. It complements your skin, your eyes, illuminates your already striking beauty.

"I... thank you. This is really nice. It's lovely." The shadows hum, and he secretly preens, the warmth in his chest spreading as you tell him your name.

"I'm Azriel," he says in return, and you nod.

"I know." You sigh, and look past him, down the street to where he knows your work awaits. "I have to go."

Or he could take you. It's tempting, so, so tempting. It's wicked, and rotten, but satisfying at the same time, and it soothes the reckless pieces of him calling out to you.

No. He shouldn't. He settles on a different course instead.

"I'll see you soon." Your brow furrows.

"You will?" He nods, spreading his wings, preparing to launch into the sky, pleased by how you marvel at them.

"And you'll wear both the gloves and hat when you're outside from now on." Your lips part with surprise. "Yes?" It takes a beat, and then two-

"Yes."

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

41 ┆ not once but twice (0.6k words)

The day you and Jungwon were supposed to meet, you woke up sick. You didn’t come in contact with someone who was sick nor was that cold for you to catch a sickness from the weather. Still, you woke up sick.

Instead of staying home, you still went to meet with Jungwon. You didn’t want to cause trouble by cancelling last minute, so, you took your medication and went on your way.

Your eyes felt heavy as you watched the boy’s pencil move across his notebook. You were trying your hardest to pay attention, but couldn’t. Not with your head throbbing. 

“You’re so distracted. Try and focus.” He said while looking over at you who sat beside him.

“I’m trying.” You replied while attempting to forget about your incoming fever. Jungwon put his pencil down and looked over at you. You looked back at him with a puzzled expression as his hand made its way to your forehead.

“Are you sick?” He asked as you avoided his gaze. He compared your temperature to his own, his eyes slightly widening at the discovery.

“You are, aren’t you?”

You nodded at his words, embarrassed. 

“Why didn’t you stay home? It would���ve been fine.” Jungwon reassured you and began packing up your belongings. 

“It was too late. I thought I’d be fine after taking medication, but obviously, it wasn’t enough.” You explained while helping him pack.

“Sorry,” you apologized, causing him to scoff.

“It’s fine. Seriously, next time just cancel. It’s getting cold outside now, your cold could develop into the flu.”

You nodded at his words in silence. Technically, he was right. You couldn’t refute anything he had said. Jungwon smiled at your silent state, leaving him satisfied. He rose from his spot as you followed through, confused.

“Where are we going?” 

“I’m taking you home. Where else are you going to go in such a state?” He said with a raised brow. You looked around silently while nodding. Once again, he was right. The longer you stayed out, the worse your cold would have gotten.

Maybe he was truly worried about you.

He zipped up your jacket, making sure you were completely warm, which only left you more flustered than before. 

“Let’s make a stop at the convenience store first.” He insisted, leaving you with no other choice but to nod. 

The walk over wasn’t far. It was more so awkward. Your hands brushed against each other not once, but twice. 

It left you both flustered and silent. It was obvious the two of you took note of it as well.

“Wait here,” Jungwon said before running into the convenience store in haste. You stood outside quietly and observed the things around you. They were pretty. 

Pretty enough for a picture. With that said, you pulled out your mini film camera from your pocket and crouched down in front of the plants before capturing the picture.

“What are you doing?” Jungwon asked, peeking over your shoulder from behind. You flinched at his sudden presence, almost falling forward. However, his hand grabbed onto your arm, stabilizing your wobbly figure.

“Thank you,” you said while dusting off your clothes and turning to look at him.

His bangs were covering his eyes which almost made him look like a creep. Your smile and laughs left Jungwon confused as he let go of your arm. 

What was so funny?

“What?” 

“Your bangs were covering your eyes.” You explained while reaching over to push his hair out of his view.

“It looked stupid.” 

If there was one thing for sure, he definitely looked stupid right now. From the small act, he was left blushing. Jungwon looked away hoping you wouldn’t see his subtly rosy cheeks and adjusted his bangs himself until they felt right.

Surely, you caught him off guard with that.

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — short little written chap of wonyn my babies 😞

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo @wildtigerlili @nishiriks @letwiiparkjay

© JUYEOZ

[luveline]

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy. 

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead. 

"Just go home," he says. 

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of." 

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed. 

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason. 

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure. 

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward. 

"Y/N?" 

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be. 

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question. 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks. 

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away. 

"My office," he says.  

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says. 

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk. 

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks. 

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?" 

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse. 

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there. 

"From me?" 

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself." 

"I'm fine." 

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick." 

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world." 

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk. 

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously. 

"I'm taking you home, honey." 

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine." 

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home." 

"Hotch–" 

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'." 

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort. 

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad." 

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow. 

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right. 

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then." 

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend." 

"What did he tell you?" you murmur. 

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds." 

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm. 

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament. 

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home." 

"Oblige you?" you ask. 

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead." 

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head. 

"This is inappropriate," you mumble. 

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home." 

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car." 

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter seven

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a bracelet, a promise, and not a goodbye, but a see you later. (3.8k)

warnings: minimal swearing, a little bit of angst but mainly fluff

a/n: lando win gave me just enough inspo to finish up this chapter! sorry this one's so short, butttt next chap is halfway done rn so stay tuned <3

previous chapter | masterlist

Tonight is a bittersweet night. Like all good things inevitably do, your trip is coming to an end.

It’s the last night you’ll get to spend with Lando and all your new friends for a while. Come early tomorrow morning, you’ll be on different planes heading opposite directions of each other. 

You’re in the same place as the first night you all really bonded with each other, flames flicker bright in the firepit as you bask in the food coma of the enormous dinner you’d all had a hand in making happen.

It was a team effort from everyone, a whole day’s worth of prepping and cooking to make one big last meal to share together before going your separate ways. 

All the boys except Max were absolutely useless in the kitchen, but much better for sending back to the store to get something they’d forgotten. Pietra did eventually shoo Max out of the room for eating too much of the food before dinner was even ready. 

Lando fancied himself quite the DJ—if being a DJ meant pressing play on a carefully curated playlist, yet skipping the ones he didn’t like.

He also proved to be a great distraction, so much so that he also got himself banned from the kitchen after nearly making you burn your contribution to dinner. 

It’s warm out tonight, stars shining over the Greek countryside in a beautiful display of serenity. Crickets chirp in the distance loud enough to hear over the crackling fire.

Of course, now you’ve got Lando to keep you even warmer with the way you’re snuggled up together on one side of the same comfy sofa as last time.

You’ve got your head on his shoulder, the rest of you curled into his side as you laugh and reminisce about these past few weeks with everyone. Every so often, Lando presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. 

You’ll miss these nights of talking until the wee hours of the morning, making memories with these people who’ve become so important to you in such a short amount of time. 

You’ll miss Lando and everything about him. His quirks and bad habits, his squeaky cackles and big squinty smiles whenever he’s truly happy. The way he loves and cares and makes you feel like you’re walking on clouds all the time. 

Personally, you’ve had to fight from tearing up all day. Lando can probably tell, because he hasn't strayed far from you when you’re all together unless he has to. Or maybe he’s in the same boat as you. 

You know it’s not the last time you’ll see each other ever, but you’re going from seeing Lando almost everyday to not knowing when you’ll see him again. You haven’t even had the long distance talk yet. It has to happen tonight, yet you’re still dreading it. 

This might be as good of a time as any, with everyone in their own conversations and not paying attention to if the two of you sneak away for a bit. 

Lando is on you the second you’re out of view, brows furrowing when you stop him with a hand against his chest after a few seconds of making out. 

“I have something for you,” You say. His pouty expression morphs into one of curiosity, head cocking to the side not unlike an intrigued puppy. “It’s small, but I…I dunno, I thought you’d like it.” You press the bracelet into his palm carefully before you can chicken out, a hopeful smile aimed his way. 

Recognition dawns in his eyes immediately at the bracelet he’d had his eye on what seemed like ages ago, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Baby…when did you get this?” 

“Our first date, actually. The first first one, not the do over. I was gonna give it to you at the end, but uh, y’know,” You say sheepishly, shrugging. “I didn’t get to give it to you then, but I figured better late than never.” 

You’d done a little adjustment to the bracelet itself a few days ago, once you were absolutely certain you wanted to give it to him. Instead of securing the woven strip by tying the two ends together, you’d turned it into a tiny bead clasp, on which were the first letters of your two names with a plus sign in the middle etched in. 

It was small, not noticeable to the general eye, but something that would make him think about you while you were apart. Something that would remind him of your time together here.

He notices the subtle difference immediately, squinting at the small detailing for a better look and immediately perking up once he figures out what it means. 

“I love it,” He says softly. You help him secure it around his wrist amongst his other bracelets, the brightness of the blue and white standing out nicely in the pile of them. “I’m never taking it off.” 

“You can if you want, it’s fine,” You giggle. 

Lando all but tackles you in a hug, sweeping you off your feet in a much too grand way for your small gesture. “Never.” 

“Glad you like it.” 

“Oh! Wait here, I’ve got something for you too.” He starts off in a jog towards the house, but stops suddenly before he can get far, whirling around like he’d forgotten something. 

Before you can voice your confusion at his actions, he takes your face in his hands and he kisses you, hard. But just as quick as it happens, he runs off again, leaving you gawking after him, stunned into silence. 

You’ve barely managed to get your breath back before he’s in front of you again, pressing a small book into your hands. A photo album, you realize, upon opening it gently.

One of the first photos, you recognize as the impromptu pictures Lando had snapped of you on your first date, with your palm outstretched towards him as you’re mid laugh. It’s only been a few weeks, but that day feels like a lifetime ago as you remember it now. 

As you flip through the pages, every photo stirs up a memory. Meals you’ve all shared, things you’ve done together as a group, candids of all your friends. You don’t even recall Lando having his camera out for half of these things, but photos don’t lie. 

“You took these?” You ask. Lando nods, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “They’re gorgeous, Lan.” 

“You think so? I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“I love them.”

Warmth spreads through your chest every time you spot yourself, because you look…different. You’ve never really been one to enjoy having your photo taken, but Lando has managed to capture you in a way that nobody else has been able to before. 

For once, you look truly content and happy with your life. 

The last one is your favorite one out of the whole album. You don’t even fully recall where or by whom it was taken, but it’s of Lando and yourself, sitting next to each other at a table. Well, next to is putting it loosely. You’re well in each other’s space, fingers intertwined, seemingly mid conversation with one another. 

The way you’re looking at Lando, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only two people in the world despite not being the only people in the shot, gives you butterflies in your stomach. 

It’s the type of photo you want framed on your dresser at home, so you can look at it everyday and never forget how lucky you are to love and be loved by Lando Norris. 

Sadness hits you like an abruptly sudden punch to the gut right then.

Home. 

You wish you could call home wherever Lando is, but you can't. 

The atmosphere of love quickly grows somber with the weight of the conversation you’ve both been putting off hanging above you like a dark cloud. 

“Guess we should talk about the elephant in the room then, huh?” 

He shakes his head. “We don’t have to.” 

“Yeah, we kinda do. We’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“Shhh, don’t say that!” He huffs, casting a wide eyed glance around like saying the words out loud will make the time arrive faster. 

The conversation goes exactly as you assume. His schedule is unpredictable and busier than you ever could’ve imagined, and you don’t know when you’ll see each other again.

You’ll both do everything in your power to find time to talk, but it’ll be hard. Still, you’ve never been more determined to try and make things work, because what you have is worth the effort. 

Lando is worth the effort. 

You sigh, sliding your hands down to rest on his chest. “Will we be okay?”

“We’re gonna be more than okay,” He insists, nodding firmly. He cups your face in his hands, palms warm and broad against your cheeks. “We’ll be golden, baby. I promise.” 

His words do wonders to soothe your turbulent emotions, and deep, deep down, you know he’s right. No matter how far his life is away from yours, no matter how complicated, you’ll be just fine. 

-------

Lando drops you off at the airport early the next morning. 

You’re trying your hardest not to cry the whole way there, and you almost succeed. Your bags are on the pavement, Camille’s doling out your boarding passes—everything is going fine. 

But then you make the mistake of glancing over at Lando messing with his hair in the reflection of his car and suddenly you're hit in the chest with a whole flurry of emotion. He turns around just as you surge forward to wrap your arms around him, drawing a grunt of surprise as you plow right into him. 

“Hi there,” He hums, rocking you from side to side. “You alright?”

“No,” You grumble, face buried into his neck. It makes him chuckle and squeeze you tighter. “This is the worst day ever.” 

“I know,” He sighs. His nose dips into your hair, lips pressing a kiss there too. “But think of it this way, yeah? The next time we see each other will be so much better than this.” 

“How do people do this all the time? Saying goodbye.” 

“Don’t think of it as a goodbye then. Think of it as a…see you later,” He says thoughtfully. 

“See you later,” You repeat, a tinge disbelieving. Lando nods encouragingly. “Sure. I’ll keep that right next to ‘no, baby, you don’t have to worry about the media’.” 

“I know you’re just lashing out because you’re sad, so I’m not going to take that personally.”

“Thank you,” You sniff. “Thank you for everything, Lan, I—” Your voice breaks before you can finish your thought, but you don’t need to in order for Lando to know exactly what you’re trying to say. 

Thank you for filling that missing piece in my life. Thank you for being what I need, for loving me as I am with patience and without judgment. 

He smiles warmly. “I know. Me too. You’ve done more than you know for me, love, and I can’t thank you enough.” 

“Shut up,” You huff, pouting. “You’re gonna make me cry.” 

“Can’t have that now, can we?” He chuckles. 

“As much as I hate to break up this heartwarming moment, we have to go.” 

To Samira’s credit, she genuinely does look like she feels guilty pulling you away from Lando before you’re ready, but you're not mad at it. You’re not entirely sure you’d be able to leave him here on your own free will. 

You try your best not to look back at him as she marches you away with a firm hand in yours, but something in you itches for one last look and you give in just as you're about to pass through the ticket gate. Lando still stands right where you’d left him, hands shoved into his pockets. 

He waves when he sees you turn around—a small, sad wave that has your resolve breaking in an instant.

Nothing can stop you as you run back towards him, weaving through other airport goers like you’re an expert until you reach where he is once again. 

Lando catches you with fluid ease as you throw yourself at him like he’d been expecting you to run at him all along, arms tightening around your waist eagerly the second you’re in his embrace. 

“Long time no see,” He says, grinning ear to ear as he sets you back down on your feet. “That was really dramatic, by the way. Nice job.”

“I know. I think you might be rubbing off on me.” 

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” 

“Luckiest girl in the world,” You say softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Lando’s nose. It makes his face scrunch up into that bashful expression you adore so much. As much as you don’t want him to hear your voice waver, it does. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” He murmurs, rubbing a hand down your back. “See you later, remember? Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

“I love you, Lan.” 

His concerned expression melts into something syrupy sweet as your name falls from his lips like it’s his favorite thing to say. “I love you too.” 

“How am I supposed to leave you?” You sigh, cupping his face in your hands. Lando leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut momentarily before refocusing with purpose. 

“You gotta go, baby,” He urges, though his tone of voice makes it sound like the last thing he wants you to do is leave. You shake your head, and it makes Lando chuckle quietly. “I know. But I can’t have you missing your flight because of me, and I can’t afford to miss my flight either. My team would have my head, and I’m pretty sure Samira would have yours.” 

“Your team,” You huff, rolling your eyes. 

Even the mention of McLaren leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. You want nothing but for Lando to give them a piece of his mind, but he’s been surprisingly level headed about things now that he's had some time off to think. 

“I’ve made my peace with it. You should too.” 

“No thanks. I’ll fight them if you want me to.” 

Lando chuckles, raising an amused brow. “All of them?” 

“Every single one of them.” 

“I’m sure you would. But no, it’s fine. I’m gonna keep pushing, keep trying my best. Try not to be too hard on myself,” He explains, shrugging. “Someone really wise gave me that advice, but I can’t quite put my finger on who.” 

“I don’t know, she sounds like a pretty smart person,” You hum, grinning at him. 

“Yeah, she’s amazing. She should really get going, though. Her friends are giving me a death glare right now.” 

You hasten a peek over your shoulder to see that, yes, all three of your girls are sporting various degrees of firm looks at the two of you. 

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go. But I’m not happy about it.” 

“Neither am I. Wish I could just whisk you off to the Netherlands with me.” 

“Maybe one day.” You smile, letting your hands slide down to rest on his chest. “But for now, I have to go. I’ll text when I land. Or you text me when you land, whichever happens first. Some of us are flying boring old commercial.” 

Lando rolls his eyes playfully at your teasing dig, cheeky smile only visible for a moment before he’s tilting your chin up with a finger and pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss is short and sweet, yet so full of love that your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest. 

“See you later, Lan.” 

“Soon. See you soon.” 

-------

You’re dead on your feet. 

Getting off the plane had taken forever, finding an Uber to take all of you home was even worse. You want nothing more than to pass out in your bed as you finally make your way to your apartment, dragging your suitcase behind you with aching limbs. 

However, you know there are things you need to do before you can relax. Laundry, catching up on work emails, figuring out what to do for dinner, just to name a few.

You can almost see the to-do list in your near future as you dig around in your backpack for your keys, and you’re expecting it to take a while. 

What you’re not expecting is a massive bouquet of flowers sitting propped up against your door. 

Frowning, you pluck out the pristine white notecard nestled in the bunch, and through tired eyes, you see that it’s actually from Lando. 

A breath of laughter escapes you, face fighting the grin pulling at your lips as you let yourself in with all your things. As soon as you’re safely inside, you flop onto the sofa, grabbing your phone to give him a call. 

The line barely rings a few seconds before he picks up, beaming face filling your screen. “Hi babe!” He chirps. He props the phone up against something, pulling the hood of his jumper up over his head.

“Did you seriously send me flowers from forty thousand feet in the air?” 

“Aw mint, they got there! I had the florist put a rush order on them.” 

“What’re they for?” 

“Did you not read the note?” 

Your brows furrow, and you flip over the card to see something on the back. In all your excitement about the beautiful arrangement, you hadn't even noticed anything else. 

Neatly printed letters spell out a simple question—

Will you be my girlfriend? 

“So? Will you?” Lando asks earnestly upon seeing your mouth curve into a smile, looking hopeful even through the screen. 

“I thought I already was!” You exclaim, nose wrinkling in confusion. 

You’ve certainly been acting like his girlfriend, doing things a girlfriend would, caring about him the way a girlfriend would. So, and this is to your knowledge, you’ve been his girlfriend this whole time.

“Well, yeah, you are. Duh. But I realized that I never actually asked. So…yes, no? Please say yes, otherwise I’ll be so confused.” 

“Yes, of course, I’ll be your girlfriend, Lan,” You chuckle, tossing the card back onto the table. “You didn’t have to make a whole grand gesture of it, but thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”  

“Of course. I miss you already.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” You whine. “I’ve never wanted to be in your arms more right now.” 

Lando tips his head back, groaning miserably. “Don’t say that to me, baby. I’ll have this jet turn right around, I swear.” 

Your focus is captured by the column of his throat, the way his neck flexes when he swallows, but you manage to put together a response. You clear your throat, composing yourself by the time he looks at you again. “You’ve got a car to race this weekend.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

You settle deeper into the comfy cushions to chat. “How’re you feeling about going back?” 

“Oh, y’know, fine,” He says airily, waving a vague hand. “Just this giant amount of weight from the championship fight looming over me like a massive storm cloud.” 

“So no pressure at all then.” 

“Nah, none.” 

“I know I don’t really know what I’m talking about when it comes to what you do, but I think you’re gonna do just fine, Lan.” 

Lando sucks in a breath through his teeth. “God, I hope you're right about that.” 

“I’m always right.” 

That gets him to laugh. “You are, aren’t you?” 

The call quality goes fuzzy for a moment, but when the camera refocuses it’s not Lando you see anymore. 

Max’s smug beaming face fills the screen. “Hey, you!” He exclaims. “How was your flight?” 

“Don’t even get me started,” You groan, rolling your eyes. Customs was such a pain in the ass, even Maren looked like she was about ready to deck someone.” 

“Maren?” He says, surprised. You nod. Maren would never harm a soul, and Max knows that. “Oh man, I’d pay to see that.”

“Max! Let me talk to my girlfriend, you fuck!” Lando huffs in the background. The phone shakes like he’s just hit Max, but it doesn’t phase him. He just laughs maniacally, stretching even further out of reach. 

“Mate, would you stop it? I’m trying to have a conversation with my friend here, if you don’t mind!”

Lando lets out a frustrated groan. “P, tell your boyfriend to give me my fucking phone back!” 

The phone gets plucked out of Max’s hand, and suddenly you're looking at Pietra, who has a look on her face somewhere between fondly amused and not at all surprised.

“Hi,” She says, moving over to the other end of the jet so as to not get accidentally smacked by either boy during their brotherly rough housing. “They’re being boys again, you know how it is.” 

“Boy, do I,” You chuckle softly, shaking your head. There’d been no shortage of them wrestling around with each other, playful jabs and things thrown at the other person. It was one of the things that endeared you the most about Lando—how he shows his affection towards the people he loves in different ways. 

A lump grows in your throat at the thought. 

Is it bad that you already miss all of them so much your chest aches a little bit? Is it completely and utterly clingy of you to want to be there on that jet instead of halfway across the world? 

Pietra must be able to tell you're deep in your head, because she smiles warmly at you. “He wishes you were here too. We all do. But he understands why you couldn't be. You have a whole life to get back to.” 

“Thank you, P. I think I needed to hear that.” You smile gratefully at your friend. 

You’re able to chat for a little while longer before Lando finally commandeers his phone back, plucking it out of Pietra’s hand much like Max did to him earlier. 

“Yeah, hi, remember me? Your boyfriend?” He bites out, only a little pouty at how long it’s taken to get you back to himself. 

“No,” You say, teasing brow arching. “Who’re you?” 

“Wow. Wow, I see how it is. Not even a day apart and you’ve already forgotten all about me.” 

“Always so dramatic,” You huff, rolling your eyes playfully. Your smile grows fonder than ever as you look at him. “I don’t think I could ever forget about you, Lando Norris.” 

“Promise?” All traces of humor are gone from his face, replaced with a flash of something more along the lines of worry. 

Under all that sass and good energy he always brings, Lando is worried. Worried you’ll forget about him, worried you’ll somehow fall out of love with him because of the situation you’ve found yourselves in. 

The thing about love is, it transcends distance. 

It doesn’t matter if he’s across the world or sitting right next to you, you love Lando just the same—with everything you’ve got, no matter what. 

“I promise.” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new chapter :)

[anjelicawrites]

I was playing with the idea of Simon and Ghost being to separate identities *and* domestic Simon, this happened. Tbh I have no idea of what this is, it could evolve in some sort of domestic team 141 thing.

You were supposed to start annual leave four night shifts ago, right in time for Simon's return from deployment, instead you're dead on your feet, have tried to use your badge to open the car door, have input the pass code for the ward to enter your building, and you're now staring owlishly at Simon, surgical mask still on his face, warm cup of tea ready for you.

Suggestive themes, 18 + only please!

"Why are you here? It's not visitor's time yet." "You're at home, dove."

You stare at him, look at yourself in your normal clothes, stare at him again, and then sigh.

"Bad night?"

You drop in his warm embrace, snuggling his chest for warmth and comfort.

"Make it four. I'm so tired I only want to sleep, but I need to shower first. Do you think I can do both at the same time?"

Under the mask Simon smiles.

"You can try, dove. Come on."

He turns you gently, his big hands light on your shoulders guide you towards the bathroom; you shuffle a little, your feet achy and sore. You're so tired you can't coordinate them and drink the tea Simon has, so lovingly, prepared you.

The bathroom is crammed. The whole apartment is as well, now that Simon basically lives here with you; you two are supposed to find a bigger place but, between his long deployments and you working in healthcare to atone for your sins, you two are still struck in this overpriced shoe box.

You sit on the water closet, sipping your tea, while Simon starts the shower and removes his hoodie.

"Are you joining me? Because I think I am too knackered for anything." "I'm not aiming for a repeat of last time."

Ah, yeah. when you two tried shower sex and Simon had knocked his head one too many times on the shower head and you two had flooded the bathroom: definitely not your best performance as a couple.

He takes the empty mug from your hands and places it on the small sink. His hands cup your face and you lower the surgical mask, so that he can kiss your closed eyes with his scarred lips; they're so chapped you know you'll have to wrestle him into a whole session of skincare to savage the damages of the weather he has encountered wherever he was.

Simon is huge, humongous frame and thick muscles, yet he still surprises you with how gentle and graceful he is as he undresses you and starts washing your hair with your shampoo; you know he holds a strength you will never match, and that he has such a complete control over it drives you insane with need, even now that you're ready to fall asleep while standing up.

"Short routine?" His voice rumbles against the tiles, you're so out he has to ask twice. "Yes please baby."

Of all the people you have dated in your life, Simon had been the first to truly listen, and absorb, your hair and skin routine. You had explained to him once, when he had stared at your latest haul of products with curiosity, so you had sat him down and went through everything; you had never expected him to truly follow your explanations, and to help you go through the full routine during one rainy Saturday afternoon. He still doesn't get why you want to use your products on him, he can manage with the basic stuff he gets at work, but lets you pamper him because it makes you happy, and that's his only goal when he's home, with you.

By the time he's rinsed the shower gel off your body, you can barely keep your eyes open, simply following what he's telling you to do to help him dry you and your hair. You're fully asleep when he helps you into one of his T shirts and carries you to bed, laying you on the sheets carefully, before joining you; he doesn't expect to sleep, he's had full four hours last night, yet your slow breathing mesmerizes him, until he follows you in a cat nap, ready to wake at any time.

When you wake up it's lunch time, Simon is laying next to you the surgical mask back again on his face: he's still hovering between himself and Ghost (and you hate that you were so tired you didn't see it as soon as you had arrived). You weren't there to help him shake his shadow off, for four days you two were ships sailing at night, you so tired you had barely managed to peck him before heading to work, him so hollowed out by the latest deployment, he had barely the energy to exist, let alone put Ghost to rest, for a while.

"Hi handsome." You purr, voice still laced with sleep.

For a moment you see the two of them coexist: Ghost's cold, calculating glance, and Simon's burning love for you, the latter winning (and thank God for that, you're too tired to deal with Ghost right now).

"Hello, dove."

Simon had woken up not that long ago, his mind still hazy and confused by his surroundings when he hadn't felt your weight against him; Ghost had raised his hackles immediately like a bad omen in the back of his mind, and refused to leave, even when Simon had noticed that you had rolled away in your sleep and had pushed an arm between your splayed legs to grab at your back and pull you against himself. Even then Ghost had kept watch for Simon, and for you, his uneasiness at the peaceful morning setting Simon's teeth on edge.

You could try to butt heads with Ghost, you have tried long enough to know he's too stubborn to leave until he thinks Simon doesn't need him.

"Breakfast?" You ask.

You tackle Simon as soon as he's vertical, your legs wounding around his hips, your arms tight around his chest; he's still too wound up to truly laugh at your antics, yet you feel his whole body relax a bit.

You eat your breakfast straddling him; your stomach can't fathom lunch when you're just up, that you leave the steak to him, while you enjoy your cuppa.

"I'm going to steal you away tomorrow." He tells you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Take you camping up in the Lake District or the Cotswold. Me, you and the bike." "In the wild?" "Aye." "Have I told you how much I love you?"

He doesn't answer, he prefers to abandon his head against your chest, letting your fingers scratch his nape and scalp, playing with his hair, now slightly longer and curlier than when he left.

Silently he stands up, anchoring your body to his as he heads for the sofa, where he lays you, before he drapes his heavy frame over yours, his head on your stomach so you can keep scratching him like you would a cat.

Blindly you fish for the remote and find one of those 'How it is made' shows that Simon likes so much and that helps him relax fully into himself, his other half in standby; when you wake up he's still watching and his muscles are liquid under your fingers.

"Pizza?" He drawls "I love you so much my heart is going to burst."

He's lost the surgical mask somewhere, now that Ghost is gone, and you can appreciate his smile, with his cute canines showing.

"After food." He deadpans. "Oh God yes! I would hate to die on an empty stomach!"

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 3 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter three!!!! this chapter did NOT go the way i thought it would, but i promise we're getting to the whole simon groveling and begging and all that lovely stuff soon - i just cant seem to stop writing these two FIGHTING! as always, if you want to be added to the tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,208 chapter two chapter four masterlist ao3 link

You were in a forest, surrounded by pines. Snow was drifting down slowly, coating the needles around you in light flakes before they melted from the heat of your breath as you stared up at the grey sky. You felt… at peace, for the first time in a long time. You were wrapped securely in the knotted roots of one of the pine trees as they wrapped themselves over and between the straps of your tactical vest, the wood gently resting against a sticky scarlet mark where your heart was supposed to be. You turned your head as much as the roots would allow, and you could see flames in the distance of the forest, a cacophony of gunshots and explosions ricocheting through your ears as the scent of smoking pine and wet gunpowder reaches your nostrils-

You woke up with a start, a gasp of air drawing through your dry, chapped lips sharply, the movement causing your aching ribs to spasm in a coughing fit. Your hands flew up to your chest to check for the wound that you were so convinced would be there, only to be met with the soft, warm, flesh of a massive tattooed bicep that was flung across your chest. But the everpresent scent of smoked pine, wet gunpowder, and a freshly-lit cigarette was still burned into your nostrils.

It was just a dream.

You blinked a few times, the light filtering through the blinds too bright for your blurry eyes to handle. You tried to lift your head, to move, but your body felt far too heavy and sluggish. You were reduced to your basest of instincts - you felt better than you had in months, but it felt like your omega side had completely overridden your logical one. You tried again to speak, to move, anything, but all that came out from your too-dry mouth was a cracking, reedy omega whine.

That made the heavy arm that was draped over your chest move. It quickly lifted off of you, the bed that you were laying on dipping and shifting like sand underfoot as the massive bulk next to you moved. You flinched slightly as rough fingertips gently touched your cheek, the image of Simon’s face swimming above you as a look of concern furrowed his brow. Oh. That would explain why that scent was swimming around you. If you two had been in a normal, healthy mating bond, it probably would have been easier to recognize. But after the months of distance, and neglect, you had forgotten your own alpha’s scent.

You felt it as your own face morphed into a matching expression. Where were you? Why is Simon here? What the fuck happened? You opened your mouth to say something scathing, the words nipping at the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, the back of Simon’s hand traced down your cheek, almost reverent in his guilt.

“Shh, shh, love. You’re okay, you’re okay. ‘M ‘ere. Just don’t… don’t move, okay? I’ve got some water here for ya-” his voice broke off as he twisted his torso, keeping one hand securely under your head while the other grabbed a white styrofoam cup with a bright white plastic straw sticking up from the lid and brought it back over to the bed. You had to fight to keep your expression neutral, as the sight of the sterile-looking aerated plastic and the very thought of drinking the disgusting water contained inside made your stomach dip in disgust.

Simon could have cried when he felt your disgust through the bond, the cavernous darkness that had shrouded you from him in his mind finally lifting enough to allow him to feel you again. However, that didn’t stop your feeling of disgust, even if it was directed at the apparently devil-like cup in his hands and not at him, from lodging into his chest like the blade of a knife. He winced and quickly moved the cup away from you, frantically looking around his quarters for some other source of water. When he didn’t find one, a short curse fell from his lips as he glanced back at you sympathetically, regret and guilt shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I- I just grabbed this from medbay… there’s some vitamins and electrolytes and whatever else you combat medics throw in it, and I figured that that would help since, you know, you’ve been asleep for three days.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Three days? Three days!? You could vomit, and you probably would have if there had been anything in your stomach.

Simon sighed, screwing his eyes shut as he realized that was probably not the best way to tell you that information. He brought his hand - the one still holding that damn cup - up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the back of his thumb. Gods, he sucked at this. He ran his hand down his face and moved to get up from the bed. “I’ll just… yeah, I’ll just go get you some, um, different water in a different glass and… yeah, I’ll be right back.”

As he moved to get up from the bed, your hand weakly shot out, your fingers feebly wrapping around his wrist. Simon glanced down at your hand in thinly-veiled shock before he looked at you. You were just as shocked. You were still angry, at least, you knew you should be, but the only thing you could focus on was the way your omega writhed in pain at the mere thought of Simon walking away from you again.

“You need to drink some water. And if you won’t drink it out of this,” he said as he raised the cup, “then I gotta get you something else.”

You looked up at him pleadingly, an absolutely pathetic look on your face. You didn’t have the strength or energy to fight against the instincts right now. Everything in you was screaming and clawing at the idea of Simon leaving, even just to get you more water, and your instincts didn’t care about how it looked, or if it made you seem like you forgave him and were willing to forget everything that happened. You knew, logically, that you weren’t, but logic was so far out of the realm of control, the only thing reacting in your mind was your wounded omega, desperate for the proximity of her alpha.

“I don’t wanna force you to drink this if it grosses you out that bad.”

Another needy, desperate whine was his only response as you let go of his wrist, your shaking hand held outstretched to take the cup. It was a clear message - I’ll drink it. Just don’t leave.

Simon’s gaze softened as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, bringing the straw close to your lips. You closed your eyes, the moment feeling far too intimate for the reality of your relationship with Simon as your dry, chapped lips wrapped around the plastic of the straw. After a few moments of forcing down the polluted-dirt tasting water, Simon slowly and gently pulled the straw away from you, his free hand coming up to your face to brush an errant strand of your hair behind your ear. His heart ached as your eyes fluttered open, still cold and guarded even as he could feel your omega pleading for him to stay through the bond.

“Feel better?”

You nodded slowly, the movement disjointed and sluggish as you brought a shaking hand up to wipe a small droplet of water off of your lips. “Yeah,” you muttered, the words thick and gruff with disuse. The thanks that should have followed that response stayed stuck in your throat like a pill that was much too big to swallow.

Simon nodded in response as he sat the cup back down on the bedside table. He then grabbed a wrapped protein bar, and tore open the packaging with his teeth. With the unwrapped protein bar in hand, he turned back to you, holding the bar near your face. “Eat.”

A pause, a short breath leaving Simon’s lips as he realized that a demand was probably not the best way to get you to do something at the moment.

“Please,” he amended, his voice softer, gentler. “You need to get your strength up,” he added, shifting the bar a little closer to your lips.

You knew he was right, ultimately, but it wounded your ego, accepting his help after all of the neglect he had put you through. You sighed softly and shifted on the bed with a groan as your muscles protested against the tiniest of movements. Simon’s hand quickly wrapped around your aching shoulder to help shift you on to your side, and you settled back down into the bed, lifting your head up slightly to take a small bite out of the protein bar. You figured it would be impossible to swallow, as all food had been the last few months, but you were shocked to find it easy to get down. You sat up slowly, achingly, agonizingly slowly, but Simon, shockingly, was there to support you. You reached out and took the bar from him, suddenly ravenous.

Simon watched as you all but scarfed down the protein bar, his gaze softening with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his now-empty hands. He hated himself, the guilt and regret of being so blind to you throughout the entirety of your marriage, your mating bond, eating him alive.

You froze, mid-chew of the last bite as you heard his murmured apology. You didn’t know how to respond, feeling like a deer in the headlights of his sin.

“Simon…”

“No, I… I am. Gods, angel, you have no idea how sorry I am. I was such a dick to you, such a bad fuckin’ alpha, and I know that my words probably don’t mean much, or, really, anything to you, but… if I could reverse time, do it all over again, I…”

“Simon, stop,” you croaked out, your gaze fixated on the comforter that pooled against your sweatpant-clad legs, anything to keep your eyes off of him. You couldn’t look at him. It was all too much, far too quickly, and you had nowhere to even begin to parse through the emotions and pain that still existed under your skin like a thrashing beast, even if it felt more subdued than it did three days ago. You didn’t want to think too hard on that, though, wanted to ignore the way your alpha’s presence, his scent calmed the ugly thing, if only slightly.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t - forgive him. Not right now. Sure, he had kept one promise; he had stayed with you, but in the grand scheme of things? It didn’t mean much. You smoothed your hand over the soft comforter, balling the now-empty wrapper of the protein bar in your other hand. Too many emotions, too little time. You felt like you were trapped between your base omega desires and the reality of your situation. The wrapper crinkled in your hand louder as your grip became tighter, the atrophied muscles in your arms shaking with exertion and emotion.

You felt Simon’s hand as it inched closer to you, more than likely to try and bring you comfort, but you couldn’t take it. Right before his hand touched yours, you jerked it away, throwing the wrapper into some random corner of his room in your panic. You quickly scrambled out of the bed, your need to get away from him, from the situation, much greater than any of the aches and pains of your neglected body. You stood in the center of the room, your chest heaving from the exertion as you steadied yourself on your feet, your legs wobbling beneath you.

Simon just stared at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

You stared right back. Your mind was a mess, fractured between your omega and your logical, rational side. Your omega was screaming, tearing at the confines of your skin at the very idea of leaving your alpha, but you pushed it away. You felt cornered, and you were lashing out like a feral cat.

“I- I gotta go.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, and all but ran out of the room. Simon was still sitting on the edge of the bed, shellshocked and staring at the space in the center of his quarters that you were just occupying.

–

It had been about a week since you had left Simon’s quarters. That first day, after you had left, you were violent, volatile - your own quarters destroyed as you tried to release all of the pent-up emotions by throwing anything and everything you could get your hands on before you collapsed into little more than a heap of tears in the middle of all of the broken glass and ripped papers. You had slept there that night, on your floor, but when you woke up, there was one of Simon’s sweatshirts outside of the door of your quarters with a note.

I know you don’t want to see me right now. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But the bond is still fragile. Just keep this around, please? -Simon

Part of you wanted to burn it, still so full of rage and pain, but the desperation of your omega had you pressing your face into the soft, plush fabric, a small omega purr unconsciously pulling past your lips. As soon as the sound of your purr reached your ears, you threw the article of clothing onto the ground as if it was a ticking incendiary bomb. It was still there, in that corner, but it cursed the entirety of your quarters to smell like Simon, the scent of smokey pine, wet gunpowder, and the first drag of a cigarette cloying to everything, no matter how many of your own clothes you piled on top of it.

The rest of that week had passed by you like a blur. You had mostly stayed in your quarters, focusing on how to control and push down your omega desires, instead replacing them with the rage you knew you should feel towards Simon, definitely not because it was the only place that you could still smell him, certainly not. It was just that the thought of being seen out and about when your emotions and physical health were so volatile seemed like it wouldn’t be the best of ideas, and that was definitely the only reason.

But, today was the first day that you had actually gotten up and took a shower. Looking in the mirror, you noticed that your skin looked much more lively, the sickly grey of the bond sickness had dissipated, and the bruises that had covered your skin had all but faded away. It made you feel… wrong almost, to be, to look, “fixed”. The torment that you had undergone still lived and breathed in your very bones, and seeing yourself without the physical marks of it, even if they were self-inflicted, felt wrong. So, you quickly tugged on some workout gear, grabbed your keys, and left your quarters, determined to make someone pay for the grief and rage that thrummed under your skin.

You dumped your keys and your sweatshirt in a corner by the sparring ring, stretching for a moment as you scanned the gym. Plenty of people to spar with, but, more importantly, no Simon. And, before you knew it, an unsuspecting, far too cocky beta recruit was swaggering up to you. He was new to the base, you could tell. Fresh out of basic training, by the looks of it. You pushed a smirk down off of your lips, as you wanted the challenge. Wanted him to fuck up just so you could absolutely let loose. You batted your eyelashes up at him, really playing into the whole weak omega stereotype.

You ran your gaze up and down the recruit, sinking your teeth into your plush lower lip. You watched as the recruit’s eyes lit up at your actions, obviously taking them as flirtatious. Meanwhile, all you had wanted to do was knock him off his axis, get him thinking hazy.

The recruit smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Name’s Conwell. James Conwell. Need a sparring partner?”

You grinned up at him, the expression so fake and sickly-sweet as you leaned towards him slightly, clasping your hands in front of you. If it pushed your tits together, what was the harm in that?

“Oh, yeah, James, that’d be great! I might need a few pointers though. You okay with that?” The grin that the recruit gave you was downright predatory as he nodded and slipped between the ropes, bouncing around and shadowboxing, obviously trying to show off. You quickly stifled a laugh behind your hand, clearing your throat before you slipped between the ropes as well. Gods, new recruits, especially new beta recruits, were such easy marks. They always had such a chip on their shoulder, desperate to prove themselves, and certainly not above pretending to be something they weren’t to do so. And as you settled into your side of the ring, you could smell just how desperate this recruit was to be something he wasn’t.

He had sprayed fake alpha pheromones on himself. The scent was nauseating, making your stomach roll. But, you pushed it down. You’d play the part, let him get one or two good hits in, then it would be game over for the poor boy.

“How do I start this?” You asked innocently, looking down at the smooth vinyl that coated the floor of the ring. The beta’s (Jim?) grin widened as he sunk into his own fighting stance.

“Just like this, pretty girl.”

You suppressed a disgusted shudder at his words, painting that saccharine faux-innocence on your expression as you pretended to copy him, sinking into your own stance. Yours was a much stronger base, your legs spread wider to better accommodate your movement, your fists actually tucked up to your face as protection, unlike the way the beta kept his hands low over his bare chest, obviously believing the lie that you were no threat.

“You should probably swing first, you know, show an omega like me how an alpha does it.”

That did it. His eyes glinted with that repulsive possessiveness that every douchebag gets when you stroke their ego just right, when you pretend to believe a lie that they’ve tried so hard to force to be truth. And so he did, but it arched wide, giving you the perfect opportunity to dodge under and land a jab right in the left side of his ribs. You popped up, a glee-filled smile on your lips, genuine this time, as you looked at him as he gasped for air, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He blinked, bewildered, as his head swiveled from side to side in an effort to find where you went. Once his eyes zeroed in on you, his lips pressed into a thin, angry smile, the kind that someone would give an annoying child after they spilt their snack for the third time in a row. “Wow, quick learner, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess!” Your words were bright, your eyes filled with a predatory glint that you tried to hide as you beckoned him tauntingly. “C’mon! That was fun!”

The beta growled in a terrible impression of an alpha rumble, swinging out in the exact same way. It forced you to wonder what the fuck they were teaching these kids in basic training nowadays. The velocity of this punch was slow, and you knew you had to let him get at least one punch in if you wanted this to last any longer than a few minutes before he stormed off with his tail tucked between his legs in embarrassment. Normally, you would have braced yourself for a hit that you knew was coming, but something else hit you before the punch could. Smoked pine. Wet gunpowder. First hit of a cigarette after a stressful mission. It pulled your attention just long enough to allow the beta’s punch to land squarely in your ribs, the force of the impact much greater than the velocity, which promptly knocked all of the air from your lungs. You stumbled back a little, but you forced your gaze to stay on your opponent, not allowing yourself to get distracted by the pheromones that had settled over you like an oppressive coat.

That was, until, you heard an actual alpha growl emanating from the door of the gym. It was so loud, so full of anger, that it caused everyone to stop what they were doing. You rolled your eyes, shaking out your shoulders as you sank back down into your fighting stance, but your opponent was frozen, his hands dropped as he turned to look at where the growl had come from. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was staring at. You sighed, your head dropping as you saw Simon’s long, purposeful strides carrying his massive bulk up to the ring. You heard your opponent get pulled from the ring, and before you knew it, Simon was in front of you, lifting your head up with gentle fingers.

“Did he hurt-”

You forcefully knocked his hand off of your chin, your eyes hardening. A small omega growl ripped past your lips as they curled up in displeasure. “Oh my gods, fuck off! We were just sparring!”

Simon’s gaze darkened as he looked down at you, but he, thankfully, didn’t touch you again. “You smell like fuckin’ shit. What, fake pheromones are what does it for ya now, huh?”

Your growl increased in volume as you shoved against his chest. The anger, pain, and guilt that swam between the two of you was almost tangible, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You didn’t care. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what ‘does it for me’,” you mocked as you put sarcastic air quotes around the repeated words.

Most of the gym had cleared out by now. Everyone knew how volatile the two of you could be separately, and when they sensed the heightened anger and emotions between you two, they quickly disappeared. For the few stragglers that were left, Simon fixed them with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean, and they quickly packed their things and also scurried away.

“You wanna fucking punch something?” Simon growled as he took a step closer to you. “Punch me. Not some stupid prick tryna peacock around as if he’s an alpha. You fuckin’ smell like that shit ass cologne he was trying to pass off as his own.”

A downright predatory grin spread over your lips. You were pissed. Pissed that he was here, that he had taken away the one outlet that you knew you had to work through all of these emotions. So, you bit back. You knew you were playing with fire. It was one thing you were always good at, part of the reason the team, especially Simon, called you spitfire.

“Oh, is that what that was? It smelled so good, I thought it was real.”

You were lying, and the smirk that spread over Simon’s lips confirmed that he knew it too. You shook your head, blowing out a frustrated breath as you moved to step around Simon. You didn’t want to be around him right now. His hand shot out to grab at your wrist, but you jerked it away from him.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” you bit out as your teeth ground together. “I didn’t need you to come save me, and you had no right to storm in here like this.”

“No right?” Simon seethed lowly as he turned his head to look at you. “No right? Pretty sure that’s my fucking teeth marking that mating gland right there on the side of your neck!”

You froze, slowly turning to fully face him now. Your expression was set into a mask of absolute, unbridled rage that Simon had never been on the receiving end of. Your fists were clenched impossibly tight at your sides, and you could feel the anger rolling off of you in hot, tangible waves. You had known Simon didn’t know how to be a mate, but you had never imagined that this is the way he would deem acceptable to treat you. No matter what, you were a soldier first, more than capable of taking care of yourself, you didn’t need him breathing down your neck like some sort of denmother. It almost seemed like he was trying to overcorrect from his mistakes, becoming overbearing and overprotective. That almost pissed you off more.

“If that is how you think this bond is going to go, especially after everything you did, I will cut this mating bond out myself. Do not test me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. With that, you stepped off of the mat, grabbed your things, and walked out, not even bothering to look behind you as your hand rubbed harshly over the mating bite on your neck.

---------------------------------

as always, thank you so so much for the support, and keep an eye out for chapter four! tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy @alkalineapparition @cringeycookies

[arbitrarykiwi]

Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn’t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

a.n — double update cause it's a short one + apology for the contents of this chapter word count — 1.4 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

seven

wednesday, january 29th

"no, i'm telling you, it's real! i read about it." devon pulls on hazel's arms as the four of you walk toward your school building. "someone talking about it in a tiktok video is not reading about it, devon." ivy laughs and devon shoves her to the side. "you believe me, right, y/n?" she turns to you and you're in this weird inbetween place where you can hear them, sort of but your mind is also in a million other places so you don't immediately answer.

"hey?" hazel rests an arm on your shoulder which halts you, "hm?" you ask and look at your three very concerned best friends. "you know we don't have to go, right? we can just..go to my house, get all the strawberry ice cream from the freezer and have a long discussion about ..cryptozoology. devon can tell us about that time she saw the loch ness monster again." she says and you smile when devon mutters something about her experience being 100% real.

"you have a perfect attendance, hazel. we are not going to tarnish that for..a boy. i'm okay." you try to sound convincing, try to convince yourself even because really, it shouldn't suck as much as it does. you knew that rafe somehow reciprocating your crush was wishful thinking. it was stupid to ever even entertain or let the idea play in your mind.

you'd had crushes before, even kissed two guys. once when you were fourteen and once when you were fifteen but looking at them never felt the same way as looking at rafe and you had never even come close to kissing him.

"but—"

"no. let's go." you force the three girls forward. you were first in your class, first in your entire grade, you singlehandedly organise almost every major and minor event at this school, you process all the complaints and changes students want almost weekly, you help your parents at home, you work at a bakery on saturdays, you volunteer on sundays. you are resilient and capable and rafe cameron is not going to bat his eyelashes and break you in one month of knowing him. it just wasn't going to happen. it couldn't.

you could avoid him, you think as you walk into the school building. right? this school was fairly big and truth be told, before you started tutoring, rafe didn't really stand out to you. things could go back to that time. they had too.

the first four hours went perfectly. you passed by the office and helped sandy with some paperwork until class started, then you went to class and were able to avoid him during the break as well.

you got nervous when lunchtime came around. you and your friends usually stayed in school during lunch which meant rafe could just walk up to you in the cafeteria but there were other places you could go. you could go to the green spaces or the common area. maybe even the bleachers in the basketball court though you never really liked the smell in there.

you eventually chose the green space. it was quiet and calm, just what you needed. you and your friends sat down and when you open your bag you realise you left your lunch in your locker. "i left my lunch in my locker, i'll be right back." you tell them and fish your key out of your bag before making your way out of the green space and down the stairs.

when you made it to the second floor, you walked to your locker, keys jiggling in your hands. "y/n?" your heart stopped at the sound of his voice, and the natural course of action when someone called your name was to stop or at least turn but you just kept walking. "uh huh?" you answered.

"hey, hold on!" he called and you heard him start to jog. you start to walk faster. "i..uhh am kinda in a hurry!"

"just wait." he grabs your wrist and whips you around. he looks unjustifiable good again. you force yourself to not make eye contact. "yes, rafe?" you find yourself saying in the most passive tone and his gaze lingers, filled with worry. "what happened yesterday? i texted you like ten times." he's visibly upset—crease between his brows, soft searching eyes boring it yours and it makes you upset and now you want to pinch yourself for being upset because you've created some kind of fucked up parasocial relationship with a guy who has no real interest in you.

"i..just wanted to go home. so, i went home." is the only thing you can come up with. it's technically the truth too. you pull your wrist away from his hand and he watches the action with a pained expression. "did something happen while i was gone? why didn't you come to me? i was going to take you home."

you shake your head nonchalantly dismissing him, "it's fine. i like walking, i barely exercise so i need it. it's absolutely fine." you're already turning around to find your locker but he's grabbing your wrist again, "why are you acting like this?" he's frustrated with you. you understand. you're acting different but you're frustrated with him too. even if you don't necessarily have the right to be. "you know i'm not that smart so stop playing fucking mind games with me."

you frown at his tone but also his choice of words. "you are smart, rafe. you're very smart." you correct, not liking it when he belittled himself. him not believing he was capable or smart was the whole reason he needed tutoring in the first place.

"yet i can't piece together why you're mad at me." he says, his tone displeased and you shake your head, finding his eyes. you find yourself wanting to appease him, wanting to make him feel better. you hate that he's upset, it coils something deep inside of you. "i am not mad. i'm not upset, i just..i didn't want to—" it was baffling how much you struggled to come up with a lie. you weren't a liar, okay? "i-i saw you, i saw..that you were, you were.. and i j-just—" you stammered and threw your head back in frustration.

he stared at you, eyes wide and expecting. "you just..what? how am i meant to fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"you haven't done anything wrong; if anything it's me. i—"

"you what? you didn't have fun? did someone hurt you?"

"no one did anything." you murmur and it seems to be what pushes him over the edge, "then what's wrong?" he snaps, his apparent annoyance bursting at the seams.

"nothing is wrong. there is nothing to fix, i just wanted to go home so i went home!" you yelled suddenly and rafe along with the couple of people still in the hallway stared at you in what could only be describe as utter surprise. "sorry..i'm sorry." you tried to collect whatever pride you still had and turned on your heel abandoning your food completely.

it started slowly. just slow breaths as you walked up the stairs, then that pit in your throat when you were on the third floor, followed by tears in your eyes that you were frantically trying to blink away on the fourth floor, and when you finally made it to green space, the tears were streaming down your cheeks and hazel was already standing up before you'd even made it to the table. "oh, no, sweetheart," she's pulling you in your arms and the dam just breaks and you're letting out everything you'd been holding in since that stupid bonfire. "it's okay, i'm so sorry, you're okay." her comforting whispers and gentle kisses are muffled and overshadowed by the way you're crying in her arms.

you feel ivy and devon's hands on your back, rubbing slow circles, "we got you," you feel a warm hug from behind and one on the side. you're completely cooped up, unable to even see anymore light, just little cracks. either way your vision is blurry with tears. "i w-wanna go h-home.." you hiccup in hazel's neck and you can feel her nodding. "we'll go home. we're going home."

hazel's parents are surprised to see the four of you home but when they see which state you're in, they barely question it. her mom orders take out, the junkiest junk food they can find, she calls your mom to tell her where you are, you pile onto the couch and they don't mention rafe once. you have a six-hour-long discussion about cryptozoology and the science behind mythical creatures.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.  taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[gingernut1314]

X's and O's

Summary: Luffy loves physical affection

Content: gender-neutral reader, headcanon mixed with drabble, Luffy's love language slightly expanded on

Word Count: 540+

A/N: Just a small thought I've had for a little while now. It's a little short just cause I don't have too much time to write at the moment but I really needed to write something so here it is lol. I hope you enjoy! (also I didn't read this back over because I'm posting this while I hide away from family, but I'll look it over later)

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We all know Luffy loves physical affection

He’s attacking you in hugs any chance he gets

Holding your hand and hanging onto your front and back like a stretchy limbed baby koala 

But I think he’s also a big kisser

And not just small little peaks on the cheek

No no

Big old, wet, smacking kisses

Those attacked hugs that send you flying into things and onto the ground are going to be accompanied by kiss after kiss after kiss

Kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, neck, collarbones, shoulders, and lips

He’s kissing you anywhere he can get at

Kisses are just another form of affection he thinks he should be able to give to the people he loves

He has no true sense of boundaries whatsoever so if you're not into his type of affection you’re gonna have to shout it at him 

He may look at you like a scolded little puppy

But he’ll find another way to shower you in love in no time

The first time Luffy kissed you, you were stunned. You weren’t sure if he had meant it romantically or not, but you allowed it because it made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Luffy always had that effect on you. On everyone he cared for, it seemed. 

He was happiness incarnate and his kisses only further solidified that. 

You found yourself seeking Luffy’s affection more and more, especially after days when everything seemed to be wrong. 

And Luffy, of course, was always more than happy to shower you with hugs and kisses

But today, you weren’t the one doing the seeking. 

No, Luffy was on the hunt for you. A hunt you were only alerted to by the cheerful shout of your name from across the deck of the Sunny. 

You perked up instantly at the sound, knowing what was to come in mere seconds. 

Robin perked up as well, blue eyes looking from the book she was reading towards where you sat next to her. A small smile tugged at her lips as Luffy shouted for you again. 

“Looks like Captain’s searching for you.” She mused, watching as you quickly placed your drink down before going to get up. 

“Yeah and I better--” But before you could even finish your thought, your name was shouted once more. A shout that was growing closer in a split second you didn’t even have time to try to stand up before Luffy was flinging himself at you. 

An Oofed huffed of air was knocked out of your lungs as you were shoved right back into your chair, the wood it was made up of groaning at the sharp movement. 

Arms were stretched round and round your waist, hand holding you tight. Legs did the said as kiss after kiss was planted to your face. 

“Lu--” His warm, chapped lips kissed your own. “--ffy.” You finished when lips kissed at your cheek. “What’s all this for?” You asked when he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. Luffy gave that mishvious laugh of his, lips kissing at your neck. 

“I was just thinkin’ about how much I love you.” He pulled away to smile brightly down at you. “Just wanted to let you know.”

More Like This: As Happy As A Cat In The Sun {Luffy x gn!reader}

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR ★彡PART 5

Prev. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: a lot of media attention and some solo time isn’t enough to keep paige away from you.

A/n: one more chap after this then we done 😛

YOU WAKE UP with a pounding headache, not as engulfing as last night but still enough to induce a groan as you lift your head from your pillow.

The hotel-white pillowcase is smeared with residual makeup and your hair feels tangled and unruly. It was surprising how well you slept, seeing as multiple things had happened the night before that should’ve kept you up till morning. You look around to see the hotel room is empty, then check your phone for the time. It’s 1:34pm, you’ve slept into the afternoon.

Your phone is absolutely filled with notifications.

JUJU-KINS😘

U up?

Coach is lit tweaking rn

U bouta be getting media trained FOR LIFE

ELAINEY 🤞

hey

can we talk pls?

ur only in town for a couple more days

it’s not as bad as it seems i swear

i was drunk

COACH

Call me when you see this message.

I hope you already know what you’ve done wrong so I don’t have to waste my time.

You’re smarter than this!

Collapsing on your bed again, you bury yourself in the sheets. Being in Connecticut had just turned out to be a nightmare, you’ve barely interacted with your teammates, your friendship with Elaine was ruined, you’ve had the most confusing relationship with Paige and you’ve made a fool of yourself online.

You shoot a quick text to Juju as well as some other teammates who’ve checked up on you, being sure to ignore Elaine’s texts. You find yourself re-reading your messages with Paige, thankfully your drunk brain hadn’t texted anything too out of pocket, and though you clearly remember her typing after your last message she hadn’t responded since then.

Your call with Coach was the most dreaded of all, you truly respected and feared her, so sitting through an almost half-hour phone call about your responsibilities, failures, expectations and repercussions was awful.

In short, you were to be off of social media until back in state, live privileges were fully revoked, if you were to be found partying and clubbing you’d be in massive trouble, you had to issue a statement on Instagram and twitter (which was pre-written by some professional), and the next practice you participate in will be the worst practice you’ve ever experienced in the history of bad practices. Most probably an insane amount of sprints.

You release your statements on Instagram and Twitter, but before deleting the apps you check out Paige’s comments. She’d obviously received a similar order. Her Instagram story consisted of a black screen and a small box of text, simply entailing how spreading love and positivity while uplifting other players is an obligation she intends to follow from this point onwards.

Her twitter had two new tweets:

paigebueckers1 : Me and (Name) have had some truly special experiences in college basketball. She’s an amazing player who is only gonna go higher and get better as she grows. When I was a junior I was stuck in crutches hoping for the chance I have now. (Name) as a junior herself is absolutely killing it on the court and I for one will always be rooting for her, competitive comments online or not. Keep doin what you’re doin @yourusername !

paigebueckers1 : God is good! 🙏

Turning your phone off, the only thing you’re thinking is ‘you’re so full of shit.’

You wonder if she wrote that herself or if somebody wrote it for her and made it seem like it was her own typing. Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. You’d had your experience with the Big East Champion, and it was enough for a lifetime.

The amount of content coming out regarding you and Paige was insanely overwhelming. Debates online regarding your skills, looks, personality and basically anything the public can grasp were rampant. You and Paige had been a bit of a scandal ever since she shaded you on that panel, and the media had been seriously following you two back and forth between the seemingly friendly interactions and more hostile ones.

Eventually you stumble upon something different. A video of you and Paige in the background of KK and Ice’s live that day in the coffee shop. You can see yourself fumbling with napkins, and Paige approaching. It’s almost entrancing to see everything play out from another perspective, to see how her face eases into a smile at your smartass comments, to relive your own amused emotion at her stare, to watch Paige speedily write her number on a napkin before the camera shifts and the live ends.

You’re unsure how to react to all of this. No matter how close or far you could get with Paige, would it ever amount to anything? To the slightest bit of trust? Her lips were almost on yours that evening in the street, but just an hour earlier she had lied to your face about knowing Elaine.

You recall what Elaine drunkenly spat out during your argument outside the bar.

“N’ I’ll tell you what. She’s going to play your ass and you’re never gonna get over it, cus that’s what she does.”

Was this spoken out of experience, or a mixture of jealousy and intoxication? Had Elaine once been that girl on the street, inches away?

You can’t help but think it wasn’t the case. Paige bit her tongue around you to stifle a laugh or to hold back a rebuttal to your teasing. When it came to Elaine, Paige bit her tongue in a different way. A loathing way. You couldn’t explain it.

Plus, Elaine had said herself that you were not Paige’s usual type. If she meant you and her were not alike, that was the truth. You and Paige had more of a history, more similar lifestyles and experiences, more. At least you assumed so.

Finally, you decide you’ve done enough thinking for the day. It was time to line up some plans, maybe meet up with the team for a couple hours and then hoop solo in the evening. Anything to distract from the situation.

-

The sound of a basketball against the blacktop, the hollow bounce that always found itself back to your hand. It’s sustenance to you, it’s breathing.

Storrs had been blessed with a hotter Sunday then usual, even in your shorts and t-shirt you were sweating, shooting hoops the same way you’ve been doing since you were a child.

The court was empty and outdoors, perfect for you to hold the ball for a moment and admire the scenery, the changing colours of the sky as afternoon fades to evening.

You hear the bounce of a ball again, but yours is secured in your hand.

“Hey.”

You’re not surprised to see her. The sink in your stomach as you meet her eyes in almost predictable.

“What are the chances.” You scoff. “Don’t you have like, the entire UConn gym to hoop?”

“I come to this court all the time.” Paige narrows her eyes. “It’s usually peaceful.”

“I figured.” You say curtly, turning your head to see the setting sun. It was very peaceful, even with the impending silence between you and the blonde.

“How drunk were you last night?” Paige asks.

You spin around to give her a look. “Drunk enough to get on live,” You scoff. “but sober enough to read a text and send it without regrets.”

At the mention of your short conversation with Paige over text, you can see her cringe. She obviously hadn’t been expecting you to find out about her relationship with your friend, let alone be so upfront with it.

“I never fucked her in my car…just so you know.” She finally manages to breath out.

You almost bark out a laugh at this. “You think I’m mad cus you fucked her?” You ask, walking towards Paige and lightly dribbling the ball. She simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you not?”

“Is the blonde fucking seeping into your head?” You snap, mentally celebrating as her lips forms a straight line. “If you don’t know, you better figure it out.”

Paige brings a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead as if it’s aching. Her eyes are wide and analyzing you, thinking of the best way to respond.

“Go on,” you tease her. “tell me why I’m mad.”

You’re close to her now, too close for comfort. You can see her smile lines, her plush lips, her silver chain glinting beneath the black long sleeve she’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up, and you can’t help but noticed how veiny her arms are, how her long fingers are holding the basketball against her body.

Biting her lip, Paige finally responds. “You’re mad because I lied.”

“Smart girl.” You scoff, almost choking on your breath when her jaw clenches at your comment. “I’m mad cus you lied to my face. And cus you went on live and shit talked me again for no reason.”

You and her stare at each other for a long moment before she breaks a smile. “That was my bad.” She murmurs. “I was uh, Ion’ know. I was in sum kinda mood.”

“The mood to lie?” You raise your eyebrow. “Or the mood to be a bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch.” She scowls, and you’re reminded of the last time you called her that, at the end of your game against UConn.

“That’s what you are, Bueckers.” You say with a smile, eyeing her down and getting in her face just a little more. “Bitches lie, bitches make problems out of nothing.”

Her eye is fiercely trained on you, on the way your lips move as you degrade her. You can’t tell what she’s thinking in the slightest.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” She says softly.

Once again you two are staring in silence. The proximity is intoxicating, you can practically smell her clean clothes.

“Are you still fucking Elaine?”

“Hell no.” Paige shakes her head furiously. “That ended a while ago. We haven’t talked in like months.”

“She still has your location.” You grumble. “That’s how she knew I was with you at the restaurant.”

“Shit.” Paige groans, immediately pulling out her phone. “She interrupted us on purpose then? Psycho.”

You watch as she turns off her location for Elaine and blocks her before slipping her phone back in her pocket.

“We didn’t hookup for long.” Paige says, obviously feeling the need to explain herself. “Jus a couple times. I broke things off, she couldn’t accept how busy my schedule was.”

You shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Guess she couldn’t accept you and me either, huh?” Paige smirks, shooting you a ‘forgive me’ type look.

Ignoring the swell in your heart at the stupid comment, you just chuckle and shake your head.

“Do you wanna 1v1?” She asks almost sheepishly.

You think for a moment.

“You sure I’m on your level?”

Paige looks embarrassed for a moment, remembering what she said on her live. “Quit playin.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

-

You’d be lying if you were to say you knew the score.

Was she taking score? You and Paige were equally insanely competitive, but this wasn’t a true test of skill. This was a test of endurance. A test to see who would break first.

You knew this when her hand grazed your waist as she darted past you to the other end of the court, or when she stared you down, tongue between her lips as she blocked your shot. You retaliated yourself, letting your hand linger a bit too long as you helped her up from the ground after tripping her up, or whistling at her as she makes another three.

The heavy breathing, the piercing stares, the cold air as the sun disappeared. You were in a zone you’d never been in before, somehow equally focused on the game and the girl.

You manage to steal the ball from Paige in a swift moment, but suddenly she’s in front of you again. Her hands dart for the ball, attempting to smack it out of your hand. She almost manages to steal it back, but your grip tightens just at the right moment.

She’s stuck to you, her hands attempting to pry the ball out of your own. You can hear her breath, you can see the beaded sweat on her forehead, you can feel her blue eyes watching you, watching your chest widen and shrink with every inhale and exhale, watching your lips.

It’s a replay of the college game that started all of this.

You struggle for a moment longer before the tousle is not longer controlled, the ball slips between both of your sweaty hands. You and Paige both scramble to save it, but it bounces out of your grasps and away from the court.

Neither of you chase after it.

She’s still up close to you, face flushed from the game.

“What was the score?” She huffs, out of breath. Paige’s voice is raspy and tired. You feel something spark inside of you.

“No clue.”

Paige’s face breaks into a small smirk as her hands find your waist, uncertain and soft, just barely ghosting your frame. “That was my ball.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, your heart hammering at the feeling of her eyes exploring every part of you, lingering on your lips before she finally leans in.

Paige’s lips are rough against yours, but fit perfectly as if moulded for your own. She melts into you, her hands finally tightening around your body, her face tilting just right so she can finally taste you. It’s something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. She kisses with a million emotions, with urgency, passion and the slightest bit of control. It’s electrical.

When you need to break the kiss to breath, you simply tug on her ponytail. You were not expecting the slight whimper as your lips part.

“M’ not done.” She mutters against you, catching her breath.

“I want you, P.” You whisper, looking up at her. Paige’s face immediately changes at this, lips tilting upward in an annoyingly charismatic way.

“I know you do, baby.” She murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

[021894s]

— 16 petty [1.3k W]

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

PAIRING: brothers bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: talks of revenge

AUTHORS NOTE: a little short chap but it ends on a little cliffhanger to get you all excited for 17🤗

Under the dappled shade of ancient trees, the gentle murmur of conversation blended with the rustling leaves and distant bird calls. You sat among friends, the air filled with the scent of pine and the earthy promise of an impending rain. It was a scene stolen from a painting, where time seemed to slow and the world outside this circle of companionship faded to a mere whisper.

Ningning's voice, warm and inviting, cut through the calm. "So how did everyone here meet?" Her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds, and all eyes turned to you.

You hesitated for a brief moment, the memories flooding back. "U-um, Heeseung pretty much introduced me to everyone here except those three over there," you said, pointing to Niki, Sunoo, and Jungwon. The names felt like a roll call of your shared pasts.

"Aww, so you and Heeseung are close?" Ningning prodded, her curiosity painting her words with genuine interest.

"Yeah, I mean, I never got the sister I wanted, so I had to settle for him," you joked, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And it's kinda hard not to get close with everyone with him throwing parties every other weekend." You shared a laugh with Ningning, the sound mingling with the symphony of nature around you.

The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, a brief interlude before Ningning's voice once again filled the space. "Can I ask you guys a question?"

"Yeah," came the chorus of replies, a harmony of openness and anticipation.

"Is Sunghoon seeing anyone else? He's so distant, and it feels like he only wants me around when something's on his mind," Ningning confessed, her words laced with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart.

You felt a jolt, a shock that rippled across your face, but it was Saerom who noticed, interpreting your expression as a cue to speak. "I wouldn't worry, he's a frat boy and doesn't know anything about being in a relationship, if that's what this is, of course," Saerom said, her tone dismissive yet not unkind.

"At first, I thought it was just sex, but when he invited me here, it felt like there was something more?" Ningning pondered aloud, her confusion mirroring your own.

The weight of the conversation pressed down on you, and without a small “excuse me”, you stood up, making your way inside.

the heaviness of Ningning's words clinged to you like a second skin. The kitchen was a sanctuary, a place of solace away from the tangled web of emotions outside. As you entered, the coolness of the room enveloped you, a stark contrast to the warmth of the gathering.

The clink of dishes and the soft hum of the refrigerator were your only companions as you began to busy yourself with a glass of water. The tap ran cold and clear, the sound soothing in its monotony. The water danced over your hands, downing it in one go, washing away the residue of the conversation.

Lost in thought, you didn't hear Sunghoon enter, his presence a silent shadow until he was beside you. "you ok?," he said, his voice a soft intrusion.

You jumped slightly, the surprise etching itself onto your face. "i’m fine, " you said, your heart still racing from the unexpected company.

You turn away from the comfort of the kitchen, the sanctuary it provided now feeling too small, too intimate. With a deep breath, you move past Sunghoon, the space between you charged with an energy you dare not acknowledge. Your shoulders nearly brush, a whisper of contact that sends a shiver down your spine. You keep your gaze firmly ahead, the stairs to your room calling you to the safety of solitude.

Sunghoon sighs, the sound heavy with things left unsaid, his eyes lingering on the space you just vacated. He stands motionless, lost in whatever thoughts are swirling through his mind, the moment stretching out like a thread pulled too tight.

It's Jake's voice that snaps him back to reality, a touch of annoyance lacing his words, "Dude, can you move out the way?" Sunghoon quickly moves to set everything on the counter, mind still fogged with the interaction you just had.

everyone one is outside mingling, awaiting the feast they’re about to have when you hear a gentle knock on the door, followed by the soft creak of hinges as your met with saerom, her presence a soothing balm to the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. She sits beside you on the bed, her voice a tender whisper, "I'm sorry you had to hear about ningning and Sunghoon's whole ordeal."

You draw in a shaky breath, the confusion within you cresting like a wave. "I don't understand why I'm feeling this way," you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Every time I see Sunghoon, it's like I'm instantly brought back to that night we shared—the way he made me feel." You pause, the memory vivid, searing. "It was unlike anything I've ever felt before."

Saerom listens, her eyes filled with empathy as she takes your hand in hers. "Seeing him so cozy and openly with another girl is hard," you continue, the admission a whisper of vulnerability, "and I can't quite grasp why." The room is filled with your shared silence, a testament to the complexity of the human heart.

Got it, let's go with that plot twist. Saerom, with a knowing glint in her eye, leans back against the headboard, her voice laced with a hint of mischief. "Sunghoon can be such an idiot sometimes. He's just an inconsiderate jerk, you know?"

You can't help but let out a small laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "Yeah, you're right," you agree, feeling a sense of solidarity in Saerom's blunt assessment.

With a playful smirk, Saerom suddenly sits up straighter, an idea sparking in her eyes. "What if you invited a guy friend over? Just to be petty and show Sunghoon that he's also easy to forget," she suggests, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a mischievous smile.

Even though you know it's not really the case, the idea of turning the tables on Sunghoon, if only to make a point, has its appeal. The plot thickens as you consider Saerom's suggestion, the wheels of your intricate story turning.

With a deep breath, you muster up a smile, not allowing the previous tension to cast a shadow over the rest of the evening. As you follow Saerom down the stairs and outside, the savory aroma of the food the guys prepared wafts through the air, a gentle reminder of the warmth and camaraderie that fills the air.

The laughter and chatter of your friends greet you as you reenter the backyard, the heart of the home, where memories are often made. You glance around at the faces you adore the most, a sense of gratitude washing over you. Sunghoon is there too, and for a moment, you lock eyes, a silent acknowledgment passing between you before you both focus on the feast before you.

The table is a colorful display of everyone's efforts, a mix of dishes that somehow come together to form a perfect ensemble. You take your seat, the laughter and stories flowing as freely as the drinks, each bite of the lovingly prepared food grounding you back to the present, to the joy of shared experiences and the unspoken bonds that tie you all together.

Tonight, you decide, is about the memories, the laughter, and the love that surrounds you. The complications of the heart can wait for another day. For now, there's joy to be found in the simple act of enjoying a meal with the people who mean the most.

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylalyla @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @seokseokjinkim @syzavxy @xrvrqs @soulvrrs @velvetkisscs @ak-aa-li @eneiyri @starlvcieszsq @meowmeowjang @hanhaeji @moonlighthoon @gaylilseokie @seunghancore @heelovesmeknot @nyfwyeonjun @kookify @jayhoonvroom @heesminee3 @charlizefaye @mooniikay @ccrriiied @nikiswifiee @heemilktea @yorukoshii @sumzysworld @glxzillx

[cherry-pop-elf]

What Kissing The Weasley Siblings Feels Like

Warnings: Fluff, Sensual, a little risky, no smut, graphic descriptions of lips and smoochies. 16+? Think that works

Writing Commissions Open

William ‘Bill’

Given half his face is missing he doesn’t really like giving kisses. It’s awkward, and strange. To only have half your mouth. How his lips are never able to be soft, or how there is so much teeth. Despite it, you would always kiss the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be kissed, and that is simply that. You find a way, and doing so warms his soul. One day, he finally gets brave enough to return a kiss. It’s awkward, it’s strange, but his intent is all that matters. He was horribly anxious, but followed through. Besides. A little tongue makes it more fun anyway. Whenever the full moon gets closer, you expect getting nothing but tongue and teeth anyway. What’s some more?

Charlie

Warm. They are always so warm, and chapped from the heat. He works with dragons all day, and you can always taste the ash on his breath. He’s a passionate man. He is so intense. Every kiss is like being swallowed whole by the embers of the very dragons he has tamed. He’s so passionate. A man that would lift you off your feet, and have you arched in his strong hands. As if he is trying to consume you, and lick your skin like an angry fire. He is a man that knows what he wants. What he wants is to make sure you know he loves you. He wants you so very bad

Percy

He’s always been quite the prim and proper type. His kisses tend to be quick, short, and almost sharp. Like a peck to the cheek. He has just always had trouble showing affection, but you knew that when you signed up with him. So it wasn’t like he manipulated you into thinking one thing over the other. Regardless, he does try. When his lips do find yours, they are nice. His lips are honestly softer than you expect. He always did take good care of himself after all. They never last to long, but you enjoy them while you can. He’s stepping out of his comfort zone, and you are proud of him for doing such. That’s what matters, after all. You’ll get more. You know you will.

Fred

He’s an intense fella. He likes to plaster you in little kisses, before becoming a living cartoon and dipping you into a passionate embrace. He loves to use kisses to fluster your soul, and be playful in soaking you in little ones. You swear every time you meet he makes sure to leave a kiss on you somewhere. His lips are warm, and a bit chapped. He works with fire works all day, kinda a given. Always the taste of ash on his tongue, but you are fine with it. You just adore how he’s always excited to give you kisses. Each other so alive. He’s just in love. What can he say?

George

Similar to his twin, but still his own person entirely. He’s a bit more emotional. He likes to let kiss be a bit gentler, and lets them last longer. He would trail soft kisses from your cheek, ghost your lips, and go to the next cheek. Then slap a long passionate one, right on your lips. He likes showing his emotions through his lips. Short kisses of excitement, long kisses of need, ghosting to tease. He loves to make use of his mouth, what can he say? He does more than talk your ear off about his latest invention. Mans knows how to work those lips to his advantage. In all the right places.

Ron

He’s an awkward guy. His kisses are either shy, or way too much mouth. You kinda have to teach him. As if either of you complain. He’s just a little dork. YOUR dork. Once he gets his footing, he’s enjoying himself. He still uses more mouth than lips, but you’ve grown to rather love it. How he’s just starving to have you. Even if you were gone just a few minutes. How he utterly craves your touch. It’s addictive. You’ve grown to adore those sloppy kisses he has to offer. They are HIS kisses after all. It makes him all the more special. He’s your dorky guy. All yours, and all his kisses belong to you. So hungry, and devouring.

Ginny

She’s a professional Quidditch player. Do not expect her lips not to be cracked, bloody, dry, what have you. Doesn’t mean her kisses are any less adored. She’s one for quick pecks, as she’s always running off somewhere to do something. You are in love with a Jock. A Weasley Jock no less. Regardless, she knows how to kiss. She knows that sometimes you deserve longer smooches. She does, however, enjoy cheek kisses. She loves giving cheek kisses. Platonic, romantic, she’s a cheek kisser. She will hug you tight, and plant multiple cheek kisses all over you, when she’s really excited. She’s the child of six older brothers. She’s a bit aggressive, but that’s what made you fall in love with her. Ain’t that right?

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 2

chapter 1

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; . . i am not the boy you knew and you are dead to me you watch someone you know grow into static company - boy (alex g)

2.

your chest ached.

with changing seasons, countless birthdays, the broadening of your consciousness brought an expansion of your body. growing in places that made you walk with a slouch and had your hands tugging at the front of your shirt. the shorts you'd wear during summer turned into your shame whenever your parent(s) would ask you to go and change for something more. . 'appropriate'.

ridiculous, you thought. how could they be inappropriate? they were your favorite pair.

or they used to be.

a man old enough to be your father leered at you while you were out riding your bike. you took them off as soon as you got home. you're sure they sit at the bottom of your closet to this day.

your hands got bigger. your fingers stretched. you got taller. people often told you you looked like your parent(s). you didn't see it.

despite the passage of time, mark was still there.

your parent(s) had long received the grayson's blessing to allow him refuge in your home: playdates whenever he wasn't preoccupied with baseball and important school work. but as the pages of the calendars turned, your parent(s) worried your little playdates had gone on for too long.

however, much like the dilemma your teachers had, no one had the heart - nor the energy - to separate you two. the two of you were entering the age where interest in romance grew and your parent(s) worried. it was cute, at first. when a 6 year old mark would follow you home and your parent(s) would have to contact the graysons, lest they turn the world upside down searching for their one son. or the time in which he'd brought ring-pops and claimed you'd gotten married.

but the fact of the matter was that mark had changed, too. you didn't see it at first. didn't even imagine it could've ever been that way.

mark was a growing boy.

there was evidence of that etched in markings on the wall next to your bedroom door: comparisons of height done in pencil. one with your initial. the other in his. you'd always be surprised when he kept surpassing you inch by inch. and you'd make a face whenever you'd - yet again - failed to keep up. and after your parent(s) wearily watched the two of you engage in hand size comparisons, the door to your bedroom was to remain open at all times.

but the truth of the matter was that there was simply no need.

mark was hardly ever in your bedroom those days. and much to your disappointment - well, why were you? it's not like you didn't see it coming - he'd gotten friends of his own. friends who grew with him in height and mannerism. who'd say big, nasty words and who's eyes would follow girls down the hallway. who he'd sit and rough house with until teachers had enough and sat him next to the most 'well behaved student' - you - despite his huffing. friends who wouldn't spare you a glance even though you were walking with mark. who'd talk directly to mark as if you weren't even there and steal him away with excuses of baseball practice. or simply because they could.

and mark would go.

and once, you felt your face going hot when one of them scoffed, "sorry, are we stealing you away from your girlfriend?"

mark returned the laugh - you didn't know if he knew you heard or not. you also didn't wanna know - and said, "ew."

laughter.

and if you were anyone else you would've thought about throwing his own baseball bat against his back. but all it did was make you sad. it made you angry. it made you embarrassed. and you didn't know why.

mark was a growing boy.

you were growing, too.

but you wanted to stay little for as long as you could. and the dread that came with buying newer clothes each passing year left you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

you obsessed over magazines. the pretty girls on social media who's hair looked perfect. who's teeth were whiter. who's skin looked painted on. you're sure

the others in school shared your sentiment.

soon, you had to preoccupy yourself with shaving your arms or your legs or drinking large amounts of water in order to feel something in your tummy.

but mark. .mark never had to worry about that. he was a growing boy. he didn't have to worry about clothes or skincare. he didn't have to watch what he ate.

he was a growing boy.

who cared if he ate half a dozen donuts in one sitting? he was a growing boy.

who cared if all he did was run a few steps in baseball and eat like a chipmunk all the while remaining the same? he was a growing boy!

who cared if he could burp and sneeze loudly, sit like he'd bought the planet, and go outside at night?

.. certainly not you.

but sometimes you wish -

"it's so fucking hot." mark mumbled, hanging off your bed, voice muffled around his - seventh? - donut.

you stared down at the bowl of cotton candy grapes on your lap.

your teeth ached with need.

- . . you were a. . it was easier.

"yeah." you said, squeezing one of the grapes between your index and thumb until the flesh oozed out, shiny and sticky. "i know."

"you almost done?" he asked, turning onto his stomach and wiping the icing off his hands onto your bedding.

the homework sheets in front of you were nearly done. but you'd need a lot more time to finish homework for the both of you. you wonder if your parents knew that mark coming over to do homework just consisted of him distracting you while you did the work.

and maybe they did.

they were always so forgiving to people who weren't you.

in their eyes, you'd ask for advice if he was really taking advantage of you. and none of that whiny complaining of him being too rough, either.

you should've known what you were getting yourself into when you befriended a boy.

boys will be boys. right?

then, he doesn't know his own strength when you were mad at him when one of his playful shoves sent you staggering in front of his friends.

or, he was trying to be funny! lighten up. when he'd grabbed you and groped at your fleshy sides - also in front of his friends.

and most importantly, the two of you had been best friends for so long, there was no reason why something as innocent as you doing a couple of favors for him could cause such turmoil.

you should be nicer to him. i mean, how many other friends do you have?

and that's what the excuses were about.

your parent(s) felt indebted to him. after all, they didn't have the energy to deal with the tides of your mental state: the complex emotions, highs and lows, that only seemed to become that much more apparent as you entered your teenage years.

you imagined how they must’ve thought of you.

it couldn't be that much different than how everyone else did.

mark is so patient, so good at babysitting poor, socially inept you.

but as long as they didn't have to do the heavy lifting, they figured letting mark keep you was their safest bet. it did you good. mark didn't seem burdened. if anything, he seemed happy. he enjoyed taking care of you. and you knew he did. in fact, when he wasn't around his friends. . he was the mark you grew up with.

kind of.

he was still into the same stuff: comics and superhero movies. as long as it was just the two of you. . it wasn't that bad. he cared for you. and he'd show he wasn't all gone when he'd warned you about boys - who, ironically, seemed to perfectly describe his friend group. 

don't date them, he'd say, and it reminded you of when you'd gotten that ring pop and he told you you were his.

his protective demeanor wasn't a problem when he had the strength of a six year old. but mark wasn't six anymore. the jealous fits weren't as endearing. he was rowdier. moodier. and he'd grown into his body. . meaning he had the mass to back his words up.

but you weren't cowed by him. not much, anyway.

which caused you to push away the pile of homework and snap, "why don't you do your own fucking homework? it's too much."

you knew the most mark would do was sulk and pout. that's all he ever did when you'd be preoccupied with other things. . or grouped with the opposite sex. but there'd be moments in which you'd caught the flicker of darkness in his eyes whenever the two of you had a disagreement.

when you said no.

"i'm tired after baseball." he said, slowly, like it's something you were supposed to know.

"yeah, well, i'm tired, too!" you huffed.

"yeah? of doing what?"

"of thinking for the both of us."

"you calling me dumb?"

"you said it." you muttered under your breath, doodling onto the page to distract you from the annoyance bubbling inside you.

you didn't notice him getting up. he'd have a habit of sneaking up on you. maybe he was just quiet. or you were just too absent minded to notice. but either way, before you knew it, you were lifted off the floor from around your waist.

you don't even get a chance to react before he pinned you to your bed. the shock causing your face to grow hot before you begin to thrash beneath him, spitting out insults and trying to hit him in any soft spot you could.

but he was faster, stronger.

repeating, "i'm stupid?" while fighting you off like it was nothing.

he'd always had better stamina, and soon, you're tired and pinned beneath him.

and then he. .

just froze above you.

mark's world had gone still. he could sense everything. the air shifted around him and all his attention landed on you. he could feel weak throbbing beneath the palm of his hands as he held your wrists in a two handed grip above your head.

he could smell your perfumed skin. hear the blood soaring through your veins. the heat from your face warmed him like a furnace. and the realization slammed into him like a freight train.

he'd gotten his powers.

you'd brought them out of him.

“um. can I get up now?” you'd whispered from beneath him, flustered. your eyes narrowed towards your door, the one your parent(s) demanded you to keep open at all times.

mark blinked.

then, shuffled off of you with burning cheeks.

you watched him hastily sling his school bag over his shoulder and waddle out of the room. confused, you called after him - you had a test to study for for christ's sake! - but he didn't stop.

you scrambled after him.

but like years before, you couldn't keep up.

he was gone before you even made it out into the hallway.

CHAPTER 3

[bytemee]

chapter nine. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — smut, slight angst, they love each other so much its kinda depressing, and let me know if theres more!

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 4.5k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— extra content chap is kinda cool u should check it out...also lets u know what the dare was

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd @minaripenguu

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

the day in milan felt longer than it had any right to. maybe it was because everything hit you at once as soon as you got off the plane—the difference in time zones messing with your head, the sticky humidity clinging to your skin, the exhaustion that came with flying, and the wave of memories that this city brought back. you hadn't thought about your time here in years, back when you were nineteen and believed you could take on the world. it felt like a lifetime ago, but being here again was comforting in a way you hadn't expected.

you didn't have much on your plate this trip. it was a short two-day stay, and the only reason you were here at all was because of your contract with prada. once the work was done, you planned to head straight back to la. there were still a few projects to finish, but after that, you could finally take some time off and visit your grandma in korea.

when you finally made it to your hotel, you were too tired to care about anything else. the place was nice—there was a garden out back and even a pool—but you didn't have the energy to explore. your room was on the twelfth floor, with a great view of the city and a bed that seemed to be calling your name. after taking a quick shower, you didn't even bother turning down the covers before you flopped face-first onto the mattress, groaning at how soft it was.

you closed your eyes for what you thought would just be a moment, wanting to take a second to breathe. but then you remembered you still needed to film the outro for the vlog you'd been recording all day. skipping it wasn't an option—you knew jamie would have your head if you did.

then there was jimin. she had reached out more than once since your last conversation, and every time, you ignored her. you knew it wasn't fair, but you didn't have it in you to open that door again. you were already dealing with enough disappointment, and the thought of an argument felt unbearable. it seemed easier for both of you to just leave things alone for now. you were hurt, she was hurt, and neither of you knew how to fix it.

but seeing her in person during the showcase changed everything. all the feelings you'd tried to push down came rushing back, and you realized that maybe it was worth giving her another chance to talk things out. you folded as soon as she texted after the show, telling her to meet you in your hotel room.

and now, here you were.

your outro finished, the door open, and jimin standing in front of you. it was strange to see her here, in milan, looking out of place with her baggy bape t-shirt and shorts. she seemed unsure of what to do with herself; in her left hand, she clutched a small gift bag, her fingers gripping the straps tightly like she was afraid to let go.

it had been a month since you'd last seen her (not including the brief amount of eye contact you made during prada's fashion show), but it felt like years. you missed her more than you could ever put into words, and seeing her in front of you now didn't even feel real.

she stared at you, her eyes wide and her lips parted slightly, like she was searching for something to say. neither of you spoke for a long moment, the silence heavy in the air.

eventually, you sighed softly and stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.

"well, don't just stand there. come in."

jimin nodded, stepping inside the room and looking around curiously before she stopped a few feet away from the bed. you closed the door gently, leaning against it for a second as you took her in.

the emotions swirling inside you—hurt, guilt, longing, even a flicker of hope—were almost too much to handle. you pushed yourself off the door, crossing your arms over your chest as you approached her, unsure of what to say or how to feel.

jimin's eyes met yours, searching for some kind of reassurance or maybe for you to tell her off. she swallowed hard, her gaze flickering down to the gift bag before clearing her throat. "this is for you."

she offered the bag to you, the tips of her ears pink. you reached out to take the bag from her, your fingers brushing against hers briefly. the touch was innocent enough, but the warmth that spread through her made her heart race.

"thanks," you said quietly, setting the bag on the edge of the bed. you didn't open it, not yet—you weren't sure if you could handle whatever was inside.

jimin stood there awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands now clasped tightly in front of her. she looked smaller somehow, like a scared little girl, and you felt a surge of sympathy wash over you.

"i'm sorry," she said suddenly, her voice cracking on the words. her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the pain in them was almost too much to bear. "for everything. for… messing things up. for not being there when you needed me. for—"

"jimin," you interrupted softly, shaking your head. you couldn't listen to her tear herself apart like this—it hurt too much.

she swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i just… i didn't know how to fix it. and i know i can't take back what happened, but i—"

"jimin," you said again, simply, cutting her off again. "i get it. life happens, and we're both busy—sometimes too busy. i know it wasn't personal, i can't expect you to be able to make time for me all the time, especially with how things are going. i can't be selfish."

she stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. she couldn't believe what she was hearing. were you seriously blaming yourself for the distance between the two of you? she had been the one who was too busy to even check her phone, and yet, here you were, apologizing to her, taking the blame.

"don't do that," jimin said quietly, shaking her head. "don't act like this was your fault. it wasn't. i… i should have done better. i should've made time for you; i should've been there when you needed me. but i wasn't, and that's on me—not you."

you blinked, her words catching you off guard. the way she looked at you, desperate, pleading, made your chest ache.

before you could respond, she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "you're not being selfish for wanting to feel like a priority. you deserved better than what i gave you, and i hate that i didn't see it sooner. i know i messed up. i know i hurt you." her eyes glossed over, and she bit her lip to keep herself steady. "and i don't know how to fix it, but i want to try—if you'll let me."

there was a long pause as her words hung in the air, neither of you sure where to go from here. you didn't know if this was a good idea—to forgive her so easily, but the sincerity in her voice made you realize how much she regretted what happened. and while things might not be perfect, you still cared about her, still wanted her in your life. so maybe it was time for a fresh start, a clean slate, a new beginning.

finally, you took a deep breath and looked up at her. "okay."

jimin blinked at your response, her lips parting slightly as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. her shoulders dropped, the tension in her frame loosening. "okay?" she echoed, her voice small, like she was afraid she'd misheard.

you nodded. "okay," you repeated, a little more firmly this time. "but if we're going to do this, we need to be honest with each other. no more avoiding conversations or brushing things under the rug. if something's wrong, we talk about it."

her lips trembled as a small, tentative smile began to form. "i can do that," she said softly, nodding in agreement.

the corners of your lips lifted up slightly, "good."

you glanced at the gift bag sitting on the bed, your curiosity finally getting the better of you. "what's in the bag?"

"oh," jimin said, her cheeks coloring slightly. she reached up to cover her smile, the same habit she always had when she was embarrassed. you had missed seeing her blush. "it's… nothing fancy. just something i saw and thought you might like."

you smiled, taking the gift bag from the edge of the bed and sitting down. she watched as you slowly unwrapped the box, your fingers brushing the tissue paper aside before revealing the sight of the scarf—it was the same scarf you'd eyed that day in korea, the one you almost bought but had put back when you realized it was too warm for it.

you glanced up at jimin, who was watching you nervously, her hands fidgeting in front of her. "you remembered?" you asked, almost in disbelief.

she nodded, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "yeah. i saw it again, and it just… reminded me of you."

you ran your fingers over the fabric, your gaze softening as you took in the familiar pattern. it was such a simple thing, yet the thought that she had remembered, that she had kept this in mind all this time, meant more to you than she could ever know.

you looked up at her again, giving her a small smile. "thank you."

jimin let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. she had been worried that her gift wouldn't be good enough, that it would just make you upset, but the look on your face made her feel more relieved than she had in months.

"you're welcome," she murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

you gently folded the scarf, setting it beside you on the bed, and then stood up, walking over to where jimin was still standing, unsure and still somewhat guarded. without thinking, you reached for her hand, the touch feeling natural despite everything that had passed between you.

she froze for a moment, but then her fingers curled around yours, and you felt the last of the walls between you both crumble, just a little.

"i don't want to keep doing this," you said quietly, looking down at the way your hands were intertwined. "the back and forth. the hurt. i know we can't erase everything, but i just want to move forward with you."

she swallowed, nodding her head slowly. "me too," she murmured.

you met her gaze, your eyes softening at the hopefulness reflected back at you. the truth was, neither of you even had the luxury of holding a grudge against each other. as much as the missed calls and broken plans stung, there was never enough time to stay mad. your schedules barely aligned as it was—days slipping by in a blur of rehearsals, recordings, flights, and appearances. if you wasted the rare moments you did get together on anger, what would even be left?

being face-to-face again, finally, felt like something fragile, something borrowed. holding onto resentment would only make it slip through your fingers faster. so you let it go, squeezing her hand as you pulled her into your arms, letting out a soft sigh as she melted against you.

"i missed you," she mumbled into your shoulder.

"i missed you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

for a long moment, neither of you moved. the weight of your bodies against one another was so familiar, so comforting, that it almost didn't feel real. but it was—it was real, and you could feel it, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out, the warmth radiating from her skin, the gentle touch of her fingers against your back.

jimin closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the embrace. "i got the roses you sent to my dorm. you didn't have to do that."

you let out a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. you had sent her roses a couple of days after the release of "up," the day after your birthday that she had yet to acknowledge, but you just couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let the milestone pass without some gesture. you weren’t even sure if she knew it was your birthday or if she had been too busy to acknowledge it. regardless, the roses were a nice touch.

"i wanted to," you replied, giving her hand another squeeze before letting go. "i also saw you in seoul."

she tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow at you. "what?"

"i flew in to see your performance," you clarified, sitting back down on the bed. she stood a few feet away from you, still a bit hesitant about being in your personal space. "you were amazing, by the way."

her mouth fell open as she stared at you, trying to process what she had just heard. "you… you were there? i didn't—"

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "i didn't want you to know i was there. i just wanted to see you perform."

you had sent her the flowers despite the distance between you two, skipped out on the vmas to be at her performance, and you never said anything. she had no idea how much effort you'd put in, how many strings you'd pulled just to be there.

"oh," she breathed out, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. she covered her face with her hands, groaning softly as she turned away from you. "why didn't you tell me?"

you laughed softly, leaning back on the bed as you watched her reaction. "it was a surprise."

jimin looked over at you, her hands falling to her sides as she let out a soft sigh. she was still embarrassed that you'd gone through all this trouble just to see her, but she couldn't deny that it felt good to know that you'd been there, that you were still thinking of her.

"so… you don't hate me?" she asked tentatively, her voice soft and unsure.

you shook your head, smiling at her. "no, i don't hate you."

jimin nodded slowly, processing your words. she still felt guilty for everything that had happened, but knowing that you didn't hate her made it a little easier to breathe. her eyes drifted to the scarf folded on the bed, and she bit her lip before looking back at you. "i don't know… my gift feels like it doesn't even come close to being enough now, to make up for everything i did."

"what? no," you said, shaking your head firmly. "the scarf is more than enough." you picked the scarf up, giving it a little flourish as you posed dramatically with it for a moment, "i'll be wearing this everywhere i go, proudly."

she let out a laugh, rolling her eyes playfully at your antics. "well, good. but still… i feel bad."

you watched her for a second, thinking about it before a mischievous grin slowly crept up on your face. "i mean, if you really want to do something…that’ll definitely make me feel better," you let out a few snickers under your breath.

"what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at you curiously.

you let out a couple more giggles, trying to keep a straight face but failing. "um… i dare you to—"

"so, it's like… a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly—but pickles." you explained, trying your hardest not to fall asleep at the feeling of jimin's hands massaging your scalp as you laid between her legs, "—and don't forget salt and pepper," you added, shifting slightly, your cheek pressing against her thigh.

jimin hummed in response, and you started rambling again. she wasn't paying much attention, too focused on the soothing sensation of your head in her lap. it had been so long since the two of you had been alone together like this.

sure, the circumstances weren't the best, but she'd missed you so much that she didn't care. she was just glad to have the opportunity to be near you again.

her hands moved down front of your shoulders, gently rubbing the muscles there. she loved the sound of your voice, the way you laughed, and how your smile lit up the room. she had missed everything about you.

"so, what do you think?" you asked, peeking up at her.

she blinked, looking down at you with an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry, what did you say?"

you rolled your eyes playfully, looking up to meet her gaze, a small smile on your face. "you weren't listening."

"no, i wasn't," she admitted sheepishly. "i'm sorry. i got distracted." how could she not when you were looking at her like that, with those pretty eyes and beautiful smile?

you let out a small huff, trying to feign annoyance, but the smile pulling at the corners of your lips gave you away. shifting onto your stomach, you propped your hands on her thighs and rested your chin on her right thigh, looking up at her with a playful glint in your eyes. "can't even get my girlfriend to listen to me talk."

girlfriend.

jimin's heart skipped a beat. it was the first time you'd said it out loud—the first time either of you had acknowledged, in so many words, what you were to each other. the title felt unfamiliar, but familiar at the same time. it was something she'd wanted to say to you for a long time, but was too scared to, too afraid that things would go wrong and she would lose you.

"girlfriend?" she repeated, arching a brow as her lips curled into a teasing smile.

your grin widened, playful and sure. "mm-hm. what? you're not my girlfriend? guess i must've made up all those dates we went on and—"

jimin cut you off with a squeal and a playful shove, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "okay, okay," she laughed, running her fingers through your hair again. "i guess you can call me your girlfriend," jimin said with a mock sigh, rolling her eyes in a playful manner.

you grinned at the sound, happy to hear her laugh. she had a beautiful laugh. "well, i'm glad i have your permission." you muttered, pressing a kiss against the inside thigh of her leg.

she let out a content sigh, "y/n," she warned, her cheeks growing hot and her legs unintentionally squeezing together. you chuckled at her reaction, enjoying the way she responded to your touch.

"what?" you asked, pressing another kiss against her thigh. "am i distracting you again?"

"no," she said a little too quickly. her hands paused, lingering at the base of your neck before moving down to your shoulders. "i just don't think this is the right time for… that."

"why not?" you asked, looking up at her curiously. "it's my birthday; i should get what i want, yeah?"

she bit her lip, trying to hold back her laughter. "that's not how birthdays work," she teased, her hand moving down to cup your cheek.

you pouted at the touch, your lips jutting out cutely. too cutely, because it made jimin's voice of reason fade away, replaced by a desire to lean in and kiss you right then and there. "but i want to," you said, turning to press a kiss against her palm.

jimin bit her lip, trying not to show how much the simple action affected her. you were being so affectionate and forward, and it was making her head spin. she knew it was only because you were tired, but she couldn't deny that she liked it—a lot.

"y/n…" she breathed, her hand still cupping your cheek. she was conflicted, and her mind was racing. on the one hand, she knew you were probably exhausted and needed to rest. on the other hand, well, she really liked that idea of celebrating your birthday together.

you sat up slowly, kneeling between her legs, and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "please?" you asked, leaning closer and kissing the corner of her mouth. "i promise i won't keep you up too late," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.

she sighed softly, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opened them again, looking at you with a soft, teasing smile. "okay, fine," she finally relented, her smile growing wider.

"so, is that a yes?" you asked, tilting your head to the side as you tried not to smile too widely.

"yes," she said, wrapping her arms around your neck. "happy belated birthday, y/n."

you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers and whispering, "thank you, baby," before closing the gap between you and kissing her deeply.

she gasped into the kiss, her body melting against yours as she returned the gesture. her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as her lips moved against yours, soft and pliant and perfect. she moaned softly when you tugged her bottom lip between your teeth, her grip tightening on your hair.

the two of you pulled apart slowly, a soft smile playing on your lips. "thank you," you repeated, placing a quick kiss against her nose. "for being here."

"of course," she murmured, her fingers tracing the curve of your cheekbones.

you kissed her again, unable to stop yourself, the taste of her lingering on your lips. your hands trailing from her neck, down to the curve of her waist, and then to the soft flesh of her thighs, your thumbs gently tracing circles over the skin there.

she shivered at the contact, her hands tangling in your hair once more. "y/n," she said quietly, a slight whine in her voice.

"what is it, baby?" you asked, grinning at the way she blushed when you called her that.

"you're teasing," she complained, biting her lip and tugging lightly on your hair.

"i'm not teasing," you insisted, your hands sliding underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin against your fingertips.

she couldn't help but arch her back slightly, pressing herself firmer against you.

you smirked, leaning down and capturing her lips in another searing kiss, her lips parting for you, giving you access to the sweet taste of her mouth.

your fingers found the waistband of her shorts, and you broke away from her lips, tugging them off her hips and tossing them to the floor along with the rest of her clothes.

you moved back up, pressing a trail of soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and across her collarbones. you loved the sounds she made as your lips moved lower, down her chest, across her stomach, and finally to the inside of her thighs.

"wait," she gasped, her voice coming out breathless.

"what?" you asked, pulling back, looking up at her, and blinking innocently.

she shook her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "nothing, just… it's your birthday. shouldn't i be the one making you feel good?"

"who says this isn't going to make me feel good?" you asked, pressing a kiss against her hip bone.

she bit her lip, her cheeks growing warmer. "still," she protested weakly, her fingers carding through your hair. she wanted to be the one to please you, to make up for her actions in a way that didn't involve words. she wanted to show you how much she cared, how much she meant it when she said she wanted to do better.

"just relax, okay?" you murmured, pressing another kiss against her hip before lowering yourself onto the bed and settling between her legs. "let me take care of you."

she whimpered softly at the sight of you nestled between her thighs, the way you were looking at her making her feel weak. she nodded, giving you permission. you smiled, pressing a soft kiss against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before gently spreading her open, admiring the way her slick coated her inner thighs.

"look at you," you whispered, running a finger through her folds. "you're so wet for me."

she let out a soft moan at the feeling of your touch, biting down harshly on her lower lip to stifle the sound. you couldn't help but smile, enjoying the effect you had on her. she looked absolutely gorgeous, her skin flushed pink, her eyes heavy with desire, her hair falling messily around her face.

"fuck," she moaned, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly as you dragged your tongue through her slit, tasting her arousal.

you hummed in approval, taking in the way she tasted, sweet and a little tangy. it had been a long time since you'd had the chance to do this, and you couldn't get enough of the way she squirmed under your touch, her thighs clenching around your head as her fingers twisted in the sheets.

"you're so beautiful like this," you murmured, looking up at her from between her thighs, your fingers slowly working their way inside her. "i love seeing you like this."

she let out a choked cry, her head thrown back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut. "y/n," she whispered, her hips rocking against your hand.

you gave an approving hum, before your mouth closed around her clit, sucking gently while your fingers continued to move inside her, curling and stroking her walls.

she let out a strangled moan, barely able to form words. all she could do was squirm and gasp, her body arching towards yours, her thighs clenching around your head.

you could tell she was close, her body tensing, her breaths coming out in short gasps. you wanted to draw this out, to tease her a bit longer, but the look on her face told you that she was too far gone.

you pressed another kiss against her clit before moving back up her body, her face immediately buried into the crook of her neck. "i've got you," you whispered, your fingers continuing to thrust inside her.

her hands found the back of your neck, pulling you down for a messy, desperate kiss. "i'm close," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours.

"i know, baby," you replied, nipping at her earlobe and making her shudder.

her nails dug into the back of your neck, leaving little crescent-shaped marks on your skin. her whole body shook as she came, her hips grinding against your hand, her walls clenching around your fingers, her cries muffled against the skin of your neck.

you stroked her through her orgasm, easing her down slowly until her body finally relaxed. she was still breathing heavily, her chest heaving, her eyes half-lidded. she looked gorgeous, completely spent and blissed out.

you held her close, your body pressed against hers, your fingers gently running through her hair. she was nestled against your chest, her breathing gradually returning to normal. she was quiet, but you could feel the contentment radiating off her in waves.

you pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, murmuring, "you okay?"

"mhm," she mumbled sleepily, her eyes fluttering shut.

"sleepy?" you asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

she hummed in response, already half-asleep.

"i'll take that as a yes," you chuckled quietly, pressing a final kiss against her temple.

you stayed like that for a while, the two of you tangled up together, the sound of her soft snores filling the air. you smiled to yourself, holding her a little closer, and letting the events of the day catch up to you.

it wasn't perfect—there was still a lot left unsaid, and the wounds from the past were still fresh—but it was a start, and that was all you needed.

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER EIGHT: CONNECTIONS

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SUMMARY ↳ So.. dinner with the family. Yikes. Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping. You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: subtle "accusations" of cheating wc: 4.4k NOTICE: im gonna start adding my notes/end notes on ao3 from now on if i have any. they just include my yapping (the beginning notes are usually just warnings anyway) i might go back and add them to previous chaps, might not.

You actually spend the next morning skipping your first classes in exchange for visiting the Den. You’ve had perfect attendance so far, so you’re only grievance is that you won’t be able to brag about it anymore. You’ll send in an excuse note later.

The reason for your absence is to take note of what you need for the badassium. Karen lists things off for you as you write them on a little note. A lot of it is high-grade expensive stuff. If Victoria can’t get it for you, you’ll just ask her for the money to get it yourself. Or just ask her where you can steal it.

You arrive only a tad bit late to ballet class. That’s a lie, there’s five minutes left till the bell. The teacher barely notices, too occupied with scolding some of the other kids. Victoria sees you enter and scurries over.

“Where were you?” she asks.

You pull out the list, holding it up to her. “Making this.” You hold it out to her. “It’s a list of all the stuff I need. You wanna help me? Get me these.”

She takes the paper, looking it over. “What is it?”

“Materials I need. I’m building something really important.” Victoria’s eyes roam the sheet, before nodding and tucking it into her bra.

“How fast do you need them?”

“As fast as you can get them without raising suspicion. If you can’t get them, either give me the money or tell me where I can pick it up myself.”

Victoria raises a brow. “You’d steal it?”

You shrug. “What, like it’s hard?”

She huffs is disbelief. She’ll get used to you soon enough. The bell rings, and you and Victoria walk out together. “My staff are very discreet,” she reassures. “I will get it to you.”

“Drop it off at this location,” you text her the address. It’s an old apartment close to your Den. No one lives there, you made sure.

Determined to be of use, she nods. You wave her goodbye as you drop her off. Since you missed first period, you’ll only get to see Damian at the end of the day. You also missed lunch, so there goes your most fulfilling meal of the day.

You’re beginning to feel like a zombie. You’ve always been isolated from your peers, not on purpose, most of the time. Your mind is simply far beyond theirs in every universe, it seems. It’s why you started online classes, you simply just couldn’t stand being in school with others. It was just so boring . Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck in class. Life’s rough. Maybe you should start skipping more often. You can definitely catch up, you just have to not miss too many classes.

Ms. M greets you with a bright and cheery disposition, quite the opposite to your current demeanor. You give Ms. M a stiff but polite smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She’s one of the few teachers you actually like, her passion for the subject always evident.

You place your head down on your desk, feeling the lull of boredom pull you under. As Ms. M begins her lecture, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the list of materials and your plans for the badassium. The thought of finally making significant progress makes you giddy.

Luckily for your peace of mind, Ms. M has a short lecture for the day with no assignment. She leaves the class alone for the remainder of the day. You shut your eyes, breathing calm. Feeling the call of sleep, you answer, escaping from the boringness of the day.

Except a finger flicks your ear, rudely disturbing your would-be sleep.

“Damian,” you murmur, rising. “May I help you?”

“Where were you this morning?” He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He never does.

“Not here,” you grumble. “I had to take care of some stuff. And I was kind of thinking about not even coming at all.” It’s true. Most people in their right mind just stay home if they’re even ten minutes late.

Damian picks a piece of lint from your collar. “I thought that perhaps you were affected by Ivy’s abilities. After all, I doubt you are capable of taking care of yourself.”

You cup Damian’s face, making his lips pucker. “Aw, is this your roundabout way of saying you want to take care of me? You’re so sweet.”

He takes your hands into his own, pulling them away. “I didn’t think you the unfaithful type, [Name].”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Considering the compromising position I found you and Victoria in, certainly the two of you are… together?” His face twists as he says the last word. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he walked in on the two of you. The whole carnival thing occupied your thoughts.

“Well, first of all–” you start, placing your hands in your lap, tugging his hands there as well. “–you make it sound like we’re in the regency era and I’ve just compromised the young lady Victoria,” you huff in a British accent, rolling your eyes. “Second of all, what you walked in on was a… confusing situation. We kissed, agreed we were better of as friends, and that’s that. I am not the unfaithful type, fuck you,” you grin. Leaning back, you raise your legs so perch them on his thighs. Surprisingly, he lets you.

“So don’t worry, I’m still available and I would never cheat on you, baby.”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation, before moving to massage your calves. You let your head hang over the edge of your chair, relaxing. Damian’s got skilled hands, he has too. From his background as an assassin and his current occupation as Robin. His fingers work the stress out of your muscles. His hands feel really nice.

“We’ll go to my home to work more on the project,” he mutters, focused on his current task. You hum in contentment, the tension in your muscles melting away under Damian's skilled hands. “Sounds good to me,” you murmur. “Alfred makes really good sandwiches.”

Damian continues to knead your calves for a few more moments before finally stopping. “You’ve become spoiled.”

You laugh softly, sitting up and stretching. “Says the rich one.” You and Damian gather your things as the last bell rings. Stepping outside, you breathe in the cool air. It’s getting colder in Gotham, soon it’ll start snowing. Damian’s hand finds its place on your back, guiding you to the car. You make sure to greet Alfred as you step inside. 

“How’s Jon doing?” you ask. “I hope he isn’t too embarrassed about what happened.”

“Jon is fine. The antidote did it’s part. As for his unnecessary embarrassment…” he trails off, “...you should ask him yourself.”

You tsk. “Useless,” you joke. You have a feeling Jon will do anything to ignore and forget about what happened, so you’re not sure how easy it’ll be to ask him.

Wayne Manor stands before you once again as you arrive. The sprawling estate is both imposing and welcoming, a testament to the Wayne family’s legacy. You step out of the car, feeling a mix of anticipation and exhaustion.

When you enter, you’re greeted by a loud bark. A large dog, a Great Dane, rounds the corner. He trots happily towards Damian, panting. Damian gives him generous pets.

“This is Titus,” he introduces. Titus barks at you in greeting.

You grin reaching out a hand to pet him. “Hi, Titus.” Titus leans into your scritches, making you coo and increase your petting tenfold. 

“Sorry about that! I guess he knew you were here and got excited,” says a voice, rounding the corner. A figure clad is comfy loungewear makes his way over to the two of you. You clock him immediately as none other than Dick Grayson. He bears a charming smile as he approaches.

“You must be Damian’s friend I’ve heard so much about,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it, looking at Damian smugly. “You talk about me, Dami?” You grin as he glares at you.

“I’m his older brother, Dick.”

The urge to make a joke is very strong, but you persevere. Wrong audience. “Nice to meet you. Damian hasn't mentioned you at all," you tease lightly, shooting Damian a playful glance.

Dick chuckles, looking between you and Damian with a knowing expression. "I can see that. Well, if you're Damian's friend, you're welcome here anytime. And it's always nice to meet someone who can keep him on his toes."

You chuckle softly, liking his easygoing demeanor. "Thanks, Dick. I'll do my best to keep him in line."

Damian doesn’t like how you and his brother are plotting against him in front of him, so he grabs you arm and drags you away. “We have work to do, Grayson. Do not bother us.”

Dick grins and winks as you two disappear from view. As Damian drags you away, you shoot Dick a playful wave before disappearing from view. You can hear Dick's laughter echoing behind you, amused.

Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping.

You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

“It seems to be your only talent,” he says, turning to look at you. Your faces are close together, breaths intermingling.

Your playful grin widens at his comment, enjoying the closeness as Damian's gaze meets yours. "Oh, I have plenty of talents," you retort smoothly, teasingly brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Damian's pupils dilate, a glint flickering in his eyes before he regains his composure.

"Is that so?" he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, moves to lightly trace the line of your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean into his touch, meeting his gaze with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. "Mhm," you murmur, your voice low. "But you'll have to stick around to find out all my secrets."

The intensity in Damian's eyes deepens, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. "Maybe I intend to," he replies, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Before the moment can escalate further, a loud bark interrupts the thick atmosphere. Titus, ever the loyal companion, trots over to Damian’s side, breaking the spell between you and Damian. You chuckle softly, pulling back slightly as Damian withdraws his hand.

Damian straightens beside you, brushing his hands down his front. Clearing his throat, grumbles. “We are distracted, we should be working.”

You shrug, easy. “You’re the guide.”

Damian leads you into the same room you worked in the last time you visited. Titus takes perch under the table, settling in and curling up. Today will probably be the last time you’re invited over for a while, if not indefinitely. You’re sure you’ll finish the powerpoint in an hour or so, so you wonder if Damian will kick you out as soon as that happens.

You hand Damian your laptop, since it’s been mostly you doing the actual work, it’s his turn. His fingers fly across the keys as he types. You sit on the table next to him and point out things he should add. You both work in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by your comments and Damian's terse responses. The atmosphere is focused, the earlier playful tension replaced by a shared sense of purpose. 

After an hour or so, you lean back, stretching your arms above your head. "I think that covers everything," you say, looking over the final slide.

Damian gives a final, scrutinizing look at the presentation before nodding in agreement. "It’s comprehensive," he admits, shutting the laptop. "We should be prepared for any questions they throw at us."

"Good," you reply, hopping off the table. "Now that the hard part's done, let's hope the presentation goes smoothly."

Damian closes your laptop and sets it aside. "It will. We've covered every angle. Even if they ask something unexpected, we can handle it."

You smile, appreciating his confidence. You stretch once more, your muscles appreciating the movement after sitting for so long. Titus wakes up from his nap, prancing over to you. You kneel and pet his face generously. He whines when you pull away to gather your stuff.

As you gather your things, you notice Damian watching you with an inscrutable expression. You can't quite read what's going on in his mind, but there's a sense of something unsaid lingering in the air.

“What is it?” you ask.

Damian hesitates, which he seems to do a lot around you. It’s strange to you how someone who appears so sure of himself, so absolute can do such a thing. “What are your plans for your future?”

You blink, taken aback. “Like… after high school?”

He nods, his gaze intense. "Yes. What do you see yourself doing?"

It's a question you haven't given much thought to, caught up as you are in the present challenges. You don’t really want to give it much thought. Being here long enough to go to college makes your stomach turn. You can’t pretend like you have been miserable all this time. You’ve made friends, made a life here. But it’s not your life.

“I haven’t really thought about a college or anything. I know I want to help people,” you say, eyes trailing off. “What do you wanna do?”

Damian’s expression softens. “I want to continue my fathers legacy. Do everything to make the city safer, I suppose. However, I would also like to explore my own interests.”

“I look forward to seeing your art in a museum, Damian,” you declare, facing him.

There's a moment of shared understanding between you, a recognition of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. It's a comforting feeling, knowing that despite your differences, you share a common drive to carve out your own paths.

A polite knock echoes against the door before it opens. Dick pokes his head out with a smile on his face. “Hey, you two. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shake your head. “Nah, we just finished.” You shoulder your bag over your shoulder. “I was actually about to head out.”

Dick perks up. “Actually, Alfred wanted to know if you would like to stay for dinner.”

Behind you, Damian freezes and narrows his eyes. “As [Name] was just saying, they were leaving–”

“–Actually I think I will stay for dinner,” you grin at Damian. Only a fool would skip out on a chance to taste Alfred Pennyworth’s cooking. Any pokes and prods about your identity you’ll meet head on, and any chance to embarrass Damian is a good chance.

Dick matches your grin, nodding. “I’ll let him know.” He disappears, closing the door and leaving you two alone

Damian scowls. “Whatever you are planning–”

“I have no wrong intentions whatsoever Damian,” you furrow your brows and place a hand on your chest in mock offense. “I’m offended you think so low of me.”

Damian's scowl deepens, clearly not amused by your teasing. "You always have some ulterior motive," he accuses, crossing his arms.

You step closer, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Maybe I just want to enjoy a nice dinner with your family. Is that such a crime?"

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Fine. But don't think I won't be watching you."

You smirk playfully. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

With that settled, you follow Damian out of the room and into the sprawling manor once more. The atmosphere shifts slightly as you join Damian and Titus, walking through the grand halls towards the dining room. You can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and curiosity about what dinner with the Wayne family will entail.

When you step into the room your senses immediately buzz with anticipation, jittering around your skull. Just about every single member of the Batfamily is present. Even goddamn Jason Todd is here, helping Alfred set the table. It boosts your ego a little bit. Bruce Wayne greets you as you enter.

“I’m glad we can have you over,” he smiles. “Damian doesn’t have many friends to bring over.”

You snort at Damian’s grunt. You decide not to push Damian's buttons further in front of his family. For now. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne," you reply politely.

Bruce nods back, his smile warm and welcoming. "Please, call me Bruce. Make yourself at home."

You take your seat at the large table, Damian at one side and Dick at the other. Everyone else settles in as well. Alfred serves the meal, a fancy foreign meal you don’t understand the name of. Damian, of course, gets a vegetarian portion of it.

Jason speaks up first. “You gonna introduce us or what?” He asks Damian. He looks about a second way from pulling out a hidden knife from somewhere, so Dick jumps in to save the day.

“This is [Name], they’re Damian’s classmate and…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “...friend!”

The table erupts in chuckles at Dick's teasing, though Damian remains stoic and unamused. You take the opportunity to greet everyone with a friendly smile and a wave.

"It's nice to meet all of you," you say, trying to match their warm reception despite Damian's icy demeanor.

Tim, who's been quietly observing the interaction, finally speaks up. "So, [Name], Damian's told us a bit about you. How's school been treating you?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. "It's been... interesting," you reply diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much. "I’m used to online so it’s definitely an experience."

“[Name] takes a ballet class. They are also the lead in the upcoming winter performance,” Damian pipes up, no doubt trying to put you on the spot. Asshole.

Stephanie grins. “No way! Cass does ballet too,” she claps a hand on Cass’s shoulder. Cass nods. She signs ‘what is your favorite move?’ . Barbara opens her mouth, prepared to translate what Cass said, but you beat her to the punch. You respond, fingers moving in practiced efficiency to gesture out your favorite move. Cass grins in approval.

“You know sign?” asks Duke.

“I know a lot of languages,” you smile. It’s true. Many of the Avengers know multiple languages, and they took to teaching you as much as they could. You even learned some Asgardian to impress Thor (he cried). Nat said it was a crucial skill to have.

“Like what?” asks Bruce, leaning in.

You look up as you think. “Russian, Italian, Spanish, some German, some Latin…” you trail off, “...etcetera. My dad has a lot of cool friends.”

A shared look of impressed spreads throughout the room.  Bruce hums, “and what about your father? What does he do?”

“He invents things. Right now he’s on vacation. Don’t remember where exactly he said, but he sends me money every now and again.”

Bruce gets a kind of sour look on his face before nodding. “Ah, sounds like quite the character,” Bruce responds with a nod, trying to maintain his composure. You sense there might be more to Bruce's reaction, perhaps his adoption senses are tingling (God forbid). The dinner conversation continues on lighter notes as everyone shares anecdotes and stories, keeping the atmosphere lively.

“Damian says you also like to invent and program things,” pipes up Dick.

“Yeah, I’m actually working on something right now. It’s pretty big, but hopefully it’s works,” you reply vaguely.

“Your father must be very proud of your accomplishments,” Bruce remarks, his tone measured. He gets a couple of side-eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, he always encourages me to pursue my interests. He’s pretty cool like that.”

Barbara chuckles, "It's always good to have interests outside of school. Keeps things exciting."

Tim nods in agreement, sipping his drink. “Yeah, I dabble in programming too. It’s a useful skill to have.”

After a while, Alfred brings out dessert - a decadent chocolate mousse that looks almost too good to eat. Everyone digs in eagerly, sharing their thoughts on the meal and enjoying the dessert in comfortable chatter.

Throughout the evening, you notice Bruce observing you with a mix of curiosity and concern, as if trying to gauge something beyond your words. His occasional glances toward Damian and Dick imply a silent conversation that you're not privy to, though you catch a few knowing looks exchanged between the brothers.

As the dinner winds down, Alfred discreetly clears away the dishes, signaling the end of the meal. You offer to help with the dishes, but Alfred kindly declines, insisting that you're a guest tonight.

Dick stretches contentedly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled over the table. "Well, it's been great having you over, [Name]. Hope you enjoyed the meal."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me crash dinner," you reply warmly, smiling around the table. "It's been really nice."

Damian stands abruptly. “I believe [Name] should be heading home now,” he states, pointedly ignoring the snickers.

You nod, rising from your seat. "Right. Thanks again for having me, everyone."

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, [Name],” smirks Tim. “We have plenty of room, though I’m sure Damian would be happy to–” Cass pinches Tim’s ear, interrupting his sentence.

You smile at their antics. “My cat is waiting for me, so I have to pass. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Bruce nods, his expression serious yet not unkind. "Anytime, [Name]. You're welcome here."

With a final round of goodbyes and well-wishes, you follow Damian out of the dining room. The atmosphere between you two is quieter now, the playful tension from earlier replaced by a sense of calm. "You enjoyed yourself tonight," Damian states, more a statement than a question.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, your family's pretty entertaining. I like their dynamic.”

There's a moment of silence as you both stand there, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you and Damian. His gaze meets yours, a mixture of intensity and vulnerability that surprises you.

"You know," you begin, your voice low, "I do really like teasing you, Damian. But I also... appreciate our time together." Your heart beats a little faster as you admit this, feeling vulnerable yet strangely liberated.

Damian's expression softens further, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at you. "I... feel the same," he confesses quietly, almost hesitantly.

Before either of you can say more, the door creaks open, and Dick pokes his head in with a cheeky grin. "Hey, you two. Hate to interrupt, but Alfred’s outside ready to take [Name] home."

Damian straightens abruptly, a hint of irritation flickering across his features. "We'll be there shortly," he replies tersely, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Dick raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Sure thing. Don't keep Alfred waiting too long," he teases before closing the door.

You roll your eyes playfully at Dick's teasing as he disappears, leaving you and Damian alone once more. There's a brief moment where neither of you speaks, the tension palpable in the air. Finally, Damian breaks the silence.

"We should go," he says, his voice low but firm.

You nod in agreement, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has settled between you. "Right. Let's go."

Together, you and Damian make your way out towards the front door of Wayne Manor. The grandeur of the mansion surrounds you, yet it feels less intimidating now, having spent an evening with Damian's family. As you step outside into the cool night air, Alfred waits patiently by the car, ready to drive you home. Damian walks beside you, carrying your stuff, his demeanor slightly tense yet thoughtful.

As you approach the car, Damian walks up to Alfred and mutters to him. Alfred raises a prim brow, handing Damian the keys with a nod. He walks back towards the Manor, where you see the rest of the family either peeking out the door or straight up standing outside looking. You snort. Damian sets your stuff in the backseat, opening the passenger side door for you to enter. You hum in appreciation, sitting inside.

Bruce watches the car drive away, a pinch in his brow.

“I thought Damian liked Jon?” questions Duke.

“He does.” Barbara squints. Tim gestures to the leaving car. “Then what was that?” he asks. Cassandra hums. “He also likes them, he doesn’t know it yet. Or he is just in denial.”

“Well if Cass says it’s so, then it’s so,” nods Stephanie sagely. Alfred leans closer to Bruce. “They may become part of your brood yet.”

"Perhaps," Bruce murmurs quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. Duke leans in, intrigued. "You think they're good for Damian?"

Bruce considers his words carefully before responding. "I think [Name] challenges Damian in ways that are both positive and... complicated."

Inside the car, Damian focuses on the road ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. The drive is quiet. You watch as people go on with their lives. Very few people roam the streets at this hour. You steal glances at Damian occasionally, noting the tense set of his jaw and the focused look in his eyes.

As you approach your apartment building, Damian breaks the silence. "I apologize for my family's... curiosity," he says, his voice soft yet tinged with annoyance.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "It's alright, Damian. They just want to get to know me better."

Damian parks the car and turns to face you, his expression unreadable. "They can be... overwhelming at times," he admits reluctantly.

"You're lucky to have them," you remark sincerely.

Damian steps out of the car, grabbing your bag and walking you to the front door. The air feels like a stark contrast to the warmth of Wayne Manor. Damian's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. You lean in slightly, hesitating for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just like last night. Damian freezes for an instant, different to his lack of reaction before.

"Goodnight, Damian," you murmur, pulling back slightly.

"Goodnight, [Name]," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a final smile, you close the door behind you. Damian stands there for a moment longer before driving away into the night. As you enter your apartment, you're greeted by the familiar sight of Nari lounging on the couch. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

‘All of your materials have been delivered to the address.’ is what greets you when you open up Victoria’s chat. You grin, sending a thank you. Your bed feels like heaven as you sink into it. Tomorrow real progress will be made, and you can’t wait.

notes: reader and damian are practically dating already lets be honest they just dont know it yet

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch19

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chap contents: mentions of drunk driving, jk is hungover, he snaps at like everyone lol, namjoon!! jk is YEARNING. he cries for like 80% of the chap again LOL, he overworks himself at the gym. thats p much it!!

wc: short

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: this is way better compared to the MESS of ch17 and 18 i just had to write this to give me some peace of mind lmao. anyways, enjoy loves.

masterlist , < prev | next >

Jungkook wakes up to the worst fucking headache of his life.

For a second, he doesn’t even register where he is. His body feels heavy, sinking into the couch, the same couch where Nari had shoved him last night before slamming the door shut and telling him to fix things. His mouth is dry, his head is pounding, and when he rubs a hand down his face, his fingers graze over dried tear tracks. There’s an ache behind his eyes—too much crying, too much drinking, too much everything.

He blinks up at the ceiling, exhaling shakily. How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

The bitter taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, and when he pushes himself upright, his phone catches his eye. It’s lying face down on the coffee table. He debates not looking. Just leaving it there and pretending like it doesn’t exist. But, of course, he does.

He expects messages from you. Something. Anything.

But there’s nothing.

His heart sinks.

There’s just the same spam messages he’s been sending for the past two days—the ones you never answer. He doesn’t even know why he was hoping for anything else. He was stupid to think you’d text him. Stupid to think you’d even care to check in. But some pathetic, desperate part of him still thought… maybe. Even just a fuck you. Even just leave me alone.

But you gave him nothing.

And somehow, that hurts even more.

He drags himself off the couch, stretching his sore limbs as he moves through the apartment, the one he hasn’t really been in for the past day. He barely makes it to his bedroom before he regrets it.

Your scent is still in his sheets.

Your hair tie is still on his nightstand.

Your toothbrush is still sitting there in his bathroom, untouched.

His chest tightens. He swallows, willing himself to breathe, but it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. He needs to get out. Right now.

So he does.

His apartments-gym is right there, but it isn’t enough. He needs to be somewhere else, anywhere else. So he heads to the studio gym instead. And then—he destroys himself.

Workout after workout, pushing himself until his muscles scream, until sweat drips down his skin, until his body feels like it’s being torn apart. He lifts until his arms shake, runs until his lungs burn, keeps going and going until the physical pain almost—almost—matches the ache inside his chest.

But it doesn’t.

Not even close.

Jungkook pushes past his limit. Past the burn in his muscles, past the shaking in his arms, past the screaming protest of his body telling him to stop. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to feel anything. But even that doesn’t work—because the second he’s done, the second he’s catching his breath, slumped over on a bench, sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him—he opens his phone.

And there’s still nothing.

His jaw clenches, a sharp exhale leaving his lips. His fingers twitch before he can even think. And then he’s spamming you—pathetically, desperately—like nothing has changed, like if he just pretends hard enough, he can make it real again.

Jungkook [1:43 PM]: just finished at the gym. you’d be proud. didn’t pass out even though i thought i would lol.

Jungkook [1:43 PM]: if i message you like everything’s normal, will you play along?

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: actually, never mind. don’t answer that question.

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: i love you.

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: i miss you.

Jungkook [1:45 PM]: please just call me. text me. anything.

Jungkook [1:46 PM]: i’m otw to another meeting now. love you always.

He stares at the messages. His fingers hover over the keyboard, waiting, waiting, waiting.

For what, he doesn’t even know.

The screen stays empty.

He swallows, locks his phone, shoves it in his pocket like that’ll make a difference. And then, without another thought, he gets up, grabs his bag, and walks out the gym doors, pretending—just like he said—like everything’s okay.

By the time Jungkook finally drags himself into the building, he looks like absolute shit. And he knows it.

The harsh fluorescent lights do nothing to help—if anything, they highlight the deep shadows under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the way his clothes sit just a little looser on him after barely eating the past few days.

He barely makes it three steps inside before his manager spots him. There’s a noticeable double take, followed by a sharp inhale.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” his manager blurts out, eyes scanning him like he’s some kind of walking disaster. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jungkook exhales heavily, rubbing his temples. “Nothing.”

His manager narrows his eyes. “That is not nothing.”

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Jungkook mutters, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off the exhaustion clinging to him.

His manager stares at him for a long, scrutinizing moment before scoffing. “Yeah, no shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t even argue. Just sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for whatever bullshit this day has in store.

He already knows it’s going to be hell.

Jungkook trudges through the building, head low, barely acknowledging anyone who greets him. The place feels suffocating today.

It’s not like he hasn’t walked these halls a million times before, but—fuck.

Today, everything reminds him of you.

The plants by the entrance—tall, leafy, vibrant green. You’d love them. You’d tell him how they make the place feel alive, how you wish the diner had more greenery, how your own apartment is practically a jungle.

Yellow. It’s everywhere. Some in the wallpaper on the walls, the color of the coffee cup in an employee’s hand, the obnoxiously bright sticky notes on a desk. Your favorite color. He can hear your voice so clearly—yellow is the happiest color, Jungkook, don’t you think?

Even the fucking keychains on some staff member’s bag—a lineup of tiny plushies—make his throat tighten.

Your bed is filled with them.

He can’t fucking do this.

His hands shake as he steps into the men’s bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink. His reflection stares back at him, looking as wrecked as he feels. His skin is dull, his eyes are bloodshot.

His breath stutters.

He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his palms against them.

Get it together.

A stall door creaks open behind him. Jungkook stiffens.

Then— “Hey.”

He already knows who it is before he turns. Namjoon.

The one person he doesn’t want to see. Not because he doesn’t trust him—he does. More than almost anyone. But because Taehyung definitely told him everything.

And Jungkook is not ready to hear it.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, trying to keep his composure.

Namjoon studies him carefully. Then, “You okay?”

Jungkook snaps. “No, I’m fucking not.”

His voice cracks.

Namjoon just exhales, unfazed. “Yeah. I figured.”

Jungkook looks away.

There’s a long pause.

And then—Namjoon sighs, walks over, and locks the bathroom door. “What—”

“Sit,” Namjoon says, sliding down against the wall.

Jungkook just stares at him. “What are you—”

“You’re about to explode.” Namjoon pats the floor next to him. “So just do it here before you do it in a meeting.”

Jungkook hesitates. Then—he crumbles. He slides down next to Namjoon, dropping his head back against the cold tile, and talks.

About everything.

The diner. The first time he saw you. How you had no fucking idea who he was.

“The first time I met her, I thought—I don’t know. I just thought she was different. But then she actually treated me like a normal guy, and I—” His voice breaks. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

Namjoon listens quietly. Jungkook keeps going.

The first date.

The way you told him you only saw him, not Jungkook of BTS.

The fucking field.

The dinner with your parents.

How he sat there, lying by omission, watching you laugh, watching your parents love him, knowing damn well he was going to ruin you. He talks. And talks.

Until finally—he just stops. He can’t say any more. His chest is tight. His throat burns. Namjoon exhales. Then, finally— “I told you to tell her.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes. “I know.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Jungkook swallows.

And then—finally—he admits it. “I was selfish.” His voice is hoarse. “I finally had something that made me feel real, and I didn’t want to accept that it was temporary.”

Namjoon stays quiet when Jungkook exhales, voice shaking. “I should’ve told her. I knew that. But every time I looked at her, I just—” He breaks off. “I couldn’t.”

There’s a long silence. Namjoon sighs.

“Look, Jungkook,” he says. “You fucked up. You know that. I know that. And there’s nothing I can say that will change that.”

Jungkook’s shoulders sink.

“But,” Namjoon continues, “what I see is two people who were obviously in love with each other. So now, the question is—what the hell are you going to do about it?”

Jungkook’s breath stutters.

“I don’t know if I can do anything.”

Namjoon looks at him. “You’re Jungkook. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

A beat of silence.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Jungkook?” His manager’s voice. “You’re running late.” Jungkook shuts his eyes. He clenches his fists.

And then, slowly, he pushes himself up. Fixes his clothes. Rubs his face. Namjoon stands with him, pats his back. Jungkook turns to him.

Then—without thinking—he hugs him.

And for the first time in days, he feels just a little bit lighter.

——

Jungkook steps into the meeting room, head low, expression unreadable. His manager barely looks up from his laptop as he starts rattling off numbers.

“The tour was a success,” he says. “Revenue exceeded projections. The engagement was at an all-time high—”

Jungkook tunes it out. He already knows all of this. The shows, the screaming fans, the flashing lights—none of it feels real anymore. Not after you.

Not after he lost you.

His fingers twitch against his phone, lighting up with missed messages. Not from you.

From his members, his staff, his manager—everyone but the person he needs. “Jungkook?”

He blinks, looking up.

His manager eyes him. “Are you listening?”

He nods automatically.

“Good,” his manager exhales. “Anyway—your schedule is packed for the next few weeks. A few shoots, some pre-recorded content before your enlistment—”

Jungkook barely reacts. His manager glances at him.

“When are you cutting your hair shorter?” he asks. “You know it has to be done before—”

Before the military.

Jungkook clenches his jaw. His heart pounds.

He stares at his phone, at the messages he knows he shouldn’t send. His manager sighs. “Jungkook.”

He finally looks up. “You have three weeks,” his manager says plainly. “Three weeks before everything changes.”

Something inside Jungkook snaps.

“I know.” The words are sharp, bitter. His manager startles. The room goes silent. Jungkook realizes what he’s done. He clenches his fists.

Then—he bows.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I have to go.”

Before anyone can stop him, he turns, and storms out.

Three weeks.

Three weeks to make it right.

Three weeks to win you back.

Today— He’s finally going to fucking do something about it.

Jungkook grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he stares at his phone screen.

No messages. Like always.

His chest tightens. He’s been staring at your name for God knows how long, debating.

And then, he calls. Once.

Then twice.

Then again.

By the fifth call, he doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. It’s not like you’ll answer. But then, the ringing stops.

A click.

And suddenly, he hears your voice. He perks up immediately. Surprised.

“Oh my God, Nari, no—”

Laughter. Faint rustling. You’re talking to her.

Jungkook freezes, his breath caught in his throat.

“Hello?” His voice cracks. “Baby—hello?”

You don’t respond.

Then he hears it—

A shuffle, a muttered “Oh, shit—”

And then, beep.

Silence. The call ends. Jungkook stares at his screen. Call failed.

His heart sinks.

You didn’t pick up because you wanted to.

It was an accident. Jungkook exhales shakily, dropping his head against the seat. “Fuck.”

For the first time in days. He has no idea what to do next.

He’s been here for hours. Didn’t go to back to the meeting. Didn’t eat. Didn’t move. Just sat in his car, parked a few feet away from your building, watching the entrance like a lovesick idiot.

It’s pathetic. He knows it’s pathetic. But what else can he do? You’ve blocked his number. Ignored his texts. Avoided him at work. Nari has been actively making his life hell. And still—he waits.

Just in case. Just in case you glance at his car when you walk by. Just in case you hesitate. Just in case you miss him too.

And then, he sees you.

Walking up the sidewalk, head low, arms crossed. Nari is right beside you, talking, gesturing, but Jungkook knows you’re not really listening. You just look tired.

His stomach twists.

You used to light up whenever you saw him. Now you won’t even look around. Jungkook wills you to. He holds his breath, silently begging for you to look up, to notice him—

But then Nari’s eyes flick toward his car. And she does not hesitate.

She grabs your shoulders, turns you away so quickly that you stumble. Then she storms forward, dragging you into the building without so much as a glance in his direction.

Jungkook exhales, forehead falling against the steering wheel. Still nothing.

Still no reaction.

Still just—nothing.

——

Nari slams the door behind her, throwing her bag onto the couch.

“You’re not looking outside, right?” she demands, kicking off her shoes.

You blink, startled. “Uh. No?”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

You sigh. You know exactly what—or rather, who—she’s talking about. You shrug off your jacket, pretending like it doesn’t matter, like the knowledge that Jungkook has been outside all day hasn’t been sitting like a rock in your chest.

“I don’t care,” you mumble, heading to the kitchen.

Nari scoffs. “Yeah. That’s why you’re stirring your coffee like you wanna murder it.”

You glance down.

The spoon is practically scraping the bottom of the mug. You sigh. Loosen your grip. “I don’t care,” you say again.

“Right.” Nari flops onto the couch. “That’s why you didn’t even argue when I yanked you inside like a fucking bodyguard. So chill about it.”

You roll your eyes, but she’s not wrong. The truth is—

You do care.

You care that he was waiting. You care that he looked tired. You care that he’s been outside for hours and yet he still didn’t come up, didn’t force you to see him.

You care too much.

And that’s exactly why you can’t let yourself think about it.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Nari announces, stretching as she gets up.

You frown. “Are you sure? You—”

She waves a hand. “Bitch, I love you, but I also love my bed.”

You snort.

She squeezes your shoulders. “You better call me if you feel like shit. Or if that dumbass does anything extra dumb.”

You smile. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She grins. Then—dead serious—“Block his number again.”

You groan. “Nari—”

“I’M JUST SAYING.” She presses a dramatic kiss to your forehead, grabs her bag, and heads out.

Jungkook is still there when she steps outside.

Still leaning against his steering wheel.

Still waiting. And when Nari walks past his car, she doesn’t even hesitate.

She flips him off.

Then slams her car door and drives off. Jungkook exhales sharply, rubbing his face with both hands. This is going to be a long fucking night.

——

Jungkook watches the lights in your apartment go off one by one. The living room first, a soft glow swallowed by the night. Then the kitchen, where he imagines you standing at the sink, rinsing out a mug, hands moving on autopilot. The hallway next, until the only thing illuminating the building is the neon flicker of the streetlights below and the soft glow of the bedroom window—the last piece of you still awake.

He waits.

Waits for that final flicker, that last sign that you’ve tucked yourself away from the world. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a foolish hope that you’ll come running out last minute, breathless, eyes wide with a feeling you can’t suppress. But you don’t. The bedroom light clicks off, and it’s over.

Jungkook sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He should go. He should have gone hours ago, before the cold set into his bones and the weight of regret made his chest feel like it was caving in. But he had just… waited. Sat there in his car like an idiot, watching your window like it would give him an answer.

But it doesn’t.

So finally, with one last glance up, he starts his car and drives away.

——

His apartment is dark when he steps inside, the air cold and undisturbed, like a place that’s been waiting too long for something to return. The door clicks shut behind him, echoing through the quiet. He exhales sharply and rubs a hand down his face, kicking off his shoes with a little too much force.

It’s too quiet.

The kind of quiet that lets thoughts creep in before you can stop them, filling the space with regrets, should-haves, and a thousand versions of what could have gone differently.

Jungkook groans, flopping onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it holds some divine answer. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, voice hoarse. “Think.”

There has to be something he can do.

His phone screen glows as he lifts it, thumb hesitating over the search bar.

How to get your girlfriend back.

He stares at it for a second before he quickly backspaces the whole thing, ears burning. Cheeks blushing at the word: Girlfriend.

Not my girlfriend.

He tries again.

How to win back someone who hates you.

He glares at the words. How to fix a mistake when you really, really fucked up.

That seems more fitting. He presses enter.

A flood of results appear, as if the internet itself is sighing at him like a disappointed parent. Apologize sincerely. Give her space. Prove you’ve changed.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jungkook mutters, scrolling past the obvious.

Somewhere between Plan a grand romantic gesture! and Write a heartfelt letter, he stops. A different suggestion catches his eye.

Start small. Remind them of what you once were.

Jungkook blinks. Small. Simple.

Flowers.

His lips press together in thought, thumb hovering over the screen. Then, before he can think better of it, he’s searching again.

What flowers say “I’m sorry”?

The first answer makes him scoff. White tulips. Too on the nose. The second option—lilies—feels too funeral-ish, and the third… sunflowers? He huffs a laugh. Too bright.

Roses are too romantic. Orchids too dramatic.

He settles on something softer.

Daisies. Yellow ones.

They’re simple. Uncomplicated. They remind him of you—bright, warm, something that could grow even in the cracks of a sidewalk. And they say, “I’m thinking of you.”

Yeah. That’s enough for now.

Jungkook lets his phone drop onto his chest, staring at the ceiling again. His body feels heavy, but for the first time tonight, there’s a tiny flicker of warmth beneath the guilt.

It’s not enough to fix things. Not yet.

But tomorrow—tomorrow, he starts.

And with that thought, he finally lets sleep take him.